E 

i30^ 




^llBRARY OF CONGRESS,! 



Chap. i" 



Z't 



Shelf % 

p^ UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. J" 



THE 



QUAKER SOLDIERS, 

A TRUE STORY OF 

THE WAR FOR OUR UNION. 

By Af'j. H. DuGANNE, 

Willi 1,1 ■IIKliS I'KOM THK liltOTIIKKs '1 U TIIKIK MoTlIK : ANn A FrXKRAL SKRMON BY 

I 

I 



New York: 
i86c> 

CO 



Entere<l According to Act of Congress, in the year 1866", by 
LOCKW OOD L. DOTY, 

In the CleiK'fl Office of the Dintiict Cuurt of the United States, for tlM 
Southern Dii-trict of New York. 



■-a-i-lMf. *.i- .-..^..i. 



^lothoi;s oi lew Jovfi $tate, 

WHO GAVE 

THEIR SONS TO THE UNIOM, 

Id llEVEUENTLY IN3CUIBED. 



\ 



EDWABD HALLOCK KETCHAM 



BORN IN MILTON, N. Y., DECEMBER TWENTY- 
SEVENTH, EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND THIRTY-FIVE, 
ENTERED THE SERVICE OP HIS COUNTRY, AT 
KINGSTON, AUGUST NINETEENTH, EIGHTEEN 
HUNDRED AND SIXTY-TWO ; COMMISSIONED 
SECOND LIEUTENANT, CO. A., ONE 
HUNDRED AND TWENTIETH REGI- 
MENT, INFANTRY, N. Y. V. ; KILLED 
AT GETTYSBURG, JULY SECOND, 
EIGHTEEN HUNDRED AND SIX- 
TY-THREE ; BURIED ON THE 

battle-field; 

BEMAINS subsequently EXHUMED, 

and re-interred in the 
friends' burial ground., 



JOHN TOWNSEND KETCHAM. 



born in jericho, l. i., january twelfth, eigh- 
teen hundred and thirty-eight ; entered 
the service of his country, in new 
york city, february sixth, eighteen 
hundred and sixty-three ; com.aiis- 
sioned second lieutenant, co. m., 
fourth regijient cavalry, n. y. 
v. ; taken prisoner, and died 
in libby prison october 
eighth, eighteen hun- 
dred and sixty-three ; 
eexmains returned to his friends, 
and re-interred in the 
friends' burial ground, 
at milton, n. y. 



CHAPTER r. War 13 

CHAPIEK IJ: Calling to Battlk Ji 

CHAPTER III. Ent!-:rin(; tiik SiiRvici: M 

CHAPTER IV. On rm.: Makcii 37 

CHAPTER Y. A Soldier's Spih IT 45 

CHAPTER VI " CnoTiiER Jack " 4U 

CHAPTER VII. Words of Pa tr ioti.s:,i 57 

CHAPTER VIII. Notes ox a Marc ii 63 

CHAPTER IX. John IN Service. GG 

CHAPTER X. A Gallant Kinsman g:) 

CHAPTER XI (tEttysburg 74 

CHAPTER XII. IXFLUEXCE OF Patriotis?,! SI 

CHAPTER xni. The Prisoner or War 9^> 



2i nu r r a I . 



In the long roll of names made immortal by tliS 
war recently closed, there are few around which 
more interest clusters than tliose of the brothers 
Ketcham. Not that their services were more 
arduous, or their deaths more heroic, than were 
those of thousands of others in the Federal ranks* 
but that they were representatives of a Society 
which for two centuries has opposed war, strife and 
bloodshed — the Society of Friends ; and that their 
names will live as " The Fighting Quakers." 

Edward H. and John Ketcham were the sdus 
of David Ketcham, a native of Long Island, de- 
ceased April 2d, 1860, and Martha Townsend 
Hallock, a native of Milton, N. Y., and still a 
resident of that village. Their ancestors, as far 
back as the family have records, were Friends, or 
Quakers, and bore their testimony consistently 
and zealously to all the peculiarities of that 
Society. They were-well educated and well-read 
young men, and especially so for what the world 
would call " mere farmers." With home and 
plenty around them, and a loving mother to lead 
them, they grew up to manhood, strong in the 
faith of their fathers. Thus peacefully pursuing 



12 TliE QrAKEU SOLDIERS. 

tlieir rural occupations, tlie youths dwelt Avith 
tlieir mother. Thus the rebellion found them. 
They were opposed to war — they were opposed to 
slavery ; but fi'oni the outset tlieir convictions 
were firm that the war was from God, for the 
extermination of slavery. Both wished to enlist ; 
but they were losing brothers, and each thought 
that the other should remain on the farm with 
their mother. This amicable dispute was gravely 
and privately settled between themselves, by lot, 
and Edward, the eldest, gave in his name to the 
new regiment then being raised in Ulster county. 

But, the conscience of John was not satisfied. 
He felt and wrote, " I ought to give my life, if it 
be my lot, for the cause of law and liberty in its 
need ;" and, with this impression, he speedily fol- 
lowed his brother as a soldier in the ranks of what 
to his enthusiastic spirit, was indeed " the army of 
the Lord." 

There is somethmg noble in a faith — no mattei* 
what that faith may be — which leads its followers 
to the stake of the martyr, or impels them to ex- 
change the comforts of home for the privations of 
the camp and the dangers of the battle-field. 
It was a faith like this that inspired the Quakek 
Brothers ; leading them in all tlieir marches, sus- 
taining them in all their privations ; nerving their 
hearts on the field of battle, and brightening over 
their names on the roll of fame, like the liglit oi 
stars in lieaven. 



THE QiJAIvF:R SOLDIERS. 13 



CHAPTER I. 



WAR. 



When the rtebellion's defiance was hurled from 
beleaguring cannon agamst the ramparts of Fort 
Sumter ; when the liag that surmounted the Fed- 
eral fortress was lowered before exultant treason ; 
there was but one response from loyal citizens 
throughout the Eepublic. 

AUlve, in mansion and cottage ; at the loom of 
manufacture, the artisan's bench, the student's 
desk ; ahke in field and highway, on shore or sea ; 
there was a quick throbbing of pulses, a compres- 



14 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

sion of lips, a bending of brows, as with the 
spontaneous thrill of an electric curi'ent. 

Lucifer, as of old, had flung down his gauntlet 
at the -gates of earthly happmess ; but Michael, 
the angel, was ready for the conflict. The evil 
spirit of Secession was born, but the soul of Union 
arose to overcome it. 

So it was, that while the lightning yet quivered 
on the whes which bore its intelligence to North, 
and East, and West, there Avere "minute-men" 
already buckluig their arms, as in Revolutionary 
days, there Avere musterings on viUage-greens, 
and marchings to fields of rendezvous, and a hun- 
dred thousand brave lives tendered, as offerings on 
tVieir country's altar. 

Then it was, that the vahant " Sixth Regiment 
of Massachusetts," answering our President's call, 
strode through the streets of Baltimore, and left 
its priceless blood upon her pavements. 

Then it was, that the brave " Seventh" of New 
York City — representative of wealth and com- 
merce ; and the gallant " Sixty-Ninth," composed 
of lo^^al Irish ; and the stalwart " Seventy-Ninth," 
wearing their Scottish tartan ; and the bold 
•' Eighth," with the flower of our youth ; and the 
stout Firemen, with Ellsworth at their head ; and 
the noble " Seventy-First," with their dying com- 
mander, Yosburgh ; and around these, a hundred 
other generous regiments, fi'om the Hudson to the 
Lakes, gathered -and mustered, with music and 



TtlE QrAKKE SOLniKtiS. 1 •'> 

banners, until the blue sky of our Empii-e State 
was thick with clustering stars, and the winds from 
aU our hiUs, and the streams in all our vales were 

vocal with one cry : 

" We come !" 
For the word rang forth that the city of our 
government was already iniperiUedby the advance 
of rebel forces. " The CAriTOL is in danger ! was 
the startling news which flashed from telegraph to 
press, and fi-om press to people, in all the borders 
of our Union. " The Capitol is in danger ! was 
passed from lip to Up, and from heart to heart, 
until every house-porch, and every hearthstone, 
and every church, and every school-room echoed 
the burthen, and the faithful milhons of our Nation 
responded, as with one great voice— 

" To AEMS ! TO ARMS !" 

President Lincoln had asked for seventy-five 
thousand soldiers. He could have enrolled a 
miUion, and the Eebellion might, perhaps, have 
been strangled at its birth. But an all-wise Prov- 
idence had its own purposes to develop through 
trial and suffering to the nation. It was necessary 
that our Eepubho should pass through a fiery 
ordeal. Slavery had taken the sword; it was to 
« perish by the sword." War was ordained as the 
crucible of our nation, to purge its dross, and to 

refine its gold. , . 4.1 t 

I have listened often, with hushed heart, to that 

angelic gospel which was heard of old by tiie shep- 



16 THE QUAKER SOLDIEES. 

herds of Betlileliem, "keeping watch over then' 
flocks by night ;" that tender song of Heaven's 
sweet messengers, who brought " glad tidings of 
great joy, " proclaiming " on Earth Peace — Good 
Will to men! " 

In all the centuries there have been whisperings 
of this celestial strain; soft rhythms of perfect 
love, flowing on like ripplmg brooks through 
stormy battle-plains ; but, alas! these melodies are 
evermore drowned by trumpet-blasts, and by the 
jar and the clash of w^ar-armor. 

Thus, from the days when Abram marched forth 
agamst banded kings, and when the hand of his 
first-born Ishmael was against every man ; thus, 
when the Egyptians followed after fugitive Israel ; 
thus, when the trumpets of Joshua were sounded 
around the ramparts of Jericho ; thus, when the 
Hebrew giant made war on the lords of Philistia ; 
and the Hebrew kmg lay in wait for the exile 
David ; for ever more the tramp of soldiers echoes 
from halls of history, and rivers of human l)lood roll 
down through the valley of ages ! 

Tims, I behold in solemn march an endless col- 
umn of martial spectres ; nniltitudinous armies of 
all climes and centuries ranged under mouldy ban- 
ners, keeping step to the monotoned drum-beat of 
a requiem. Innumerable hosts of humanity, 
treadmg in foot-prints of other hosts, hkewise in- 
computable, but all flanked and guide-marked bj 



TttE QUAKER SOLDIERS. IT 

grave-liillocks and the ridges and furrows oi war 

fields. 

Funereal marcli!— appalling procession! 

Tramp ! tramp ! through measureless sequences 
of recorded Time; onward marshaled over forgot- 
ten fields of conquest ! I hear the hollow resonance 
of dead foot-falls on causeways paved with ghsten- 
ing skulls, muffled by dust of crumbling bone. 

I hear the heavy flap of standards, sodden and 
crusted with blood. I hsten to the dull rumble of 
war-cars and cannon wheels, to the hoof stamps of 
chargers, to the creaking of ambulances, to the 
slow drag of chains on captive feet. 

From the East, with Samiel, the desert-wind; 
swarming like locusts, blackening the white sands, 
like myriads of grasshoppers ! Nimrod, and Belus, 
and Semiramis, with the armies of Assyria and 
Babylon ; Sethos, and Eamses, and Sesostris, with 
hosts of triumphing Egyptians; Darius, Cyrus, 
Cambyses and Xerxes, with numberless Medes 
and Persians; Hannibals, Alexanders, Constan- 
tines, and Mahomets, and Amuraths, with 
Carthaginians, and Greeks, and Byzantines, and 
Turkmen; their battling legions banner-led by 
yellow and green, by arrow and cross, and crescent ; 
traversing grave mounds of drifted sands ; climbing 
mummy-heaps ; tumbling over sarcophagi; camping 
amid stony ruins of empire. 

From the West, with chanting of Druid songs, 
blare of ox-horns, death-dance of yellow-haired 



18 TTtfc QrAKi:R SOLBlEltS. 

Gauls, and Cymbri, and Ostro-Gotlis ! Brennus and 
Herrmann ; Homan Ciiesars and Antonies ; Frankish 
Martels and Charlemagnes ; crusading hosts ; red- 
handed regicides ; Corsican Bonapartes ; tyrants, 
conquerors, peoples, and despotisms ! 

From the North, with crash of runic hai-ps, war- 
songs of yi-kings, hammer-strokes of Tlior, and 
beacon-lights of boreal-auroras ; Sweyns and Si- 
gurds, Hengists and Harfargars ; Tartars and 
Euss ; iron-booted Swedes ; following the battle- 
tracks of Scythian Attilas, and Muscovite Eurics^ 
and Hungarian Ai-pads, and Sclavonian Sobieskis. 
From the South ; great droves of captives, and 
caravans of war-spoils ; ivory and gold and spices; 
borne by men slaves, burdened and scourged, 
and evermore marking their jDathwa^'S with blood- 
drippmgs ; myriads of black-skins, and red-skins, 
and tawny-skins, branded on breast and backs with 
tribe-mark and token of foredoomed servitude ; 
and endlessly crying unto the winds and the waves, 
and the skies — "How long? how long?" 

And the fi-ightful procession — never ending, 
never halting ; fights on, toils on, through all clunes 
and ages ! Neither from the North, nor the South, 
nor the East, nor the West, cometh one short hour 
of respite — one moment's pause in the death-march 
of warfare and rum. Century striving after cen- 
tury ; nation crowding upon nation ; blows inces- 
santly falling ; blood always flowing ; human feet 
forever trampling on human hearts; fingers 



TtfE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 19 

clutcliing sworcT-liilts ; eyes peering along musket- 
tubes • hands busy with bullet-moulds, and cart- 
i'idgeSj and bomb-shells. 

" As it was in the beginning, is now, and shall 
be, forever and ever !" 

O, Father in Heaven ! is this indeed Thine or- 
dinance ? 

It is not for us to answer a question so momen- 
tous. God ruletli War ; but it was His voice* 
also, by the lips of angels, that spake unto the 
Shepherds of Gahlee, and j)romised them " Peace 
on Earth— Good Will to Men !" 

For it may be, that, in the fathomless design of 
Infinite Wisdom, these marches and counter- 
marches of mortals have all their place and sig- 
nificance. In the Eternal Harmony of countless 
spheres, our earthly discords may have rythmic 
purpose. 

Storm-winds and thunders, like flails, beat out 
the malaria of tropics. War-fields are the thresh- 
ing-floors of nations, where chaft' is parted fi'om 
Avheat, and the grain is made fit for Humanity's 
garners. 

To him who hears aright, the jarring discords 
of war are not void of harmonious meaning. The 
crash of shells and roar of cannoniy ; the clashing 
of SAVords and bayonets ; the blare of bugles and 
the rattle of drums ; are they not all great chords 
and stops in the wonderful music of a Divme 
opera ? 



20 TIIR ^QUAKER SOLPTEtJS. 

I isometimes fancy that when, at last, the clay of 
our national bridal shall come ; when the soul 
of Freedom shall be married to the body of Union 
for all time ; and when our Republic's anthem, 
rolling up fi'oni chanting millions, shall thrill afar 
through Old World nations ; I sometimes fancy 
that so gi'and an oratorio will be hailed by angel- 
choirs, as a fitting unison of the Eternal " music of 
the spheres" — which times (as poets tell) the 
swinging of each new-born world in Heaven's re- 
splendent arches. 

Therefore, let us accept even War as an instru- 
ment of Omnipotence. If Ave receive it in Punish- 
ment, it is nobler than Pestilence ; if it cometli as 
a Penalty, it is more merciful than the Deluge. 
But in the Providence of God it may have higher 
aims and ends than the mere iniliction of mortal 
chastisement. It may work, indeed, tlirough its 
throes and violences, toward the Ijirth of that pure 
and perfect Day, when " men shall learn war no 
more ;" when " the sword shall be turned into the 
plough-share, and the spear into the pruning- 
liook;" when the "Hon shall lie down with the 
lamb, and a young child shall lead them !" 

So, then, abiding still that promised millennium, 
we may glean from the mighty and terrible en- 
gines of war and revolution — fi^om the upper and 
nether millstones which grind out bloody grain 
for the Future's sustenance ; we may glean, I 
say, some sweet examples of ripe manhood — even 



TilE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 21 

while we tread beneath our feet the dross of mere 
brutal ambition. 

It was thus that the great lesson of War de- 
scended upon that peaceful homestead, where Mar- 
tha T. Ketcham, the " Quaker" mother, dwelt with 
her two boys, Edward and John. They were the 
only sons of their mother, "and she was a widow." 

For the father, who had reared their infancy — 
the plain Ulster County husbandman, who kept his 
testimony through life to the simple faith of 
" Friends" — had been called to his eternal rest, 
while yet no presage of her coming trials was re- 
vealed to his native country. He had lain down 
to sleep with "kings and 2:>rophets," leaving 
behind him the record of an upright man, Avhose 
humble hfe and unobtrusive mien were recalled 
A\ith tender regard, while he was equally remem- 
bered for the steadfast rule of righteous dealing 
which had made him as inflexible in justice as he 
was quiet in manners. 

David Ketcham slept with his ancestry, and the 
representatives of his name and virtues remained 
with their beloved mother, whose declining years 
they hoped to bless by their filial affection and 
untiring service. 

Well educated and of refined feelings, tenderly 
attached to each other, devoted to their surviving 
parent, the brothers were fitted to adorn and 
gladden their home. Tilling the soil of their farm 
together, and daily interchanging acts of fi-aternal 



^2^ THE quakeU soldiers. 

kindness, tliese boys Avere knit together in soul, 
like Dcivid and Jonathan. In comfortable, though 
moderate circustances, they were enabled to devote 
due time to mutual improvement, and to cultivate 
their individual tastes beyond the usual scope of 
young men in the country. They had inherited 
honesty, truth and conscientiousness. They 
added to these virtues whatever their hours of 
leisure could secure, in mental growth and action. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS 23 



Going back from the Present, with its fresh 
laurels and green graA^es, to the Past, with its 
thorns of trial and blossoms of \ictory. 

Through all these bewildering footprmts that 
cross and recross m the dust of our pavements, I 
retrace the ancient pathways trodden by sires of 
the RepubKc. Out of this maze of masonry which 
we call the metropolis, I go into " the fields," where 
McDougal of old spoke burnmg words to the 
" Sons of Liberty" — words that became counter- 
signs of Revolution. 

In those days there were no Wall-street brokers 
to proffer brave loans to a new-born nation ; but 
there were stalwart men of toil, to beat back the 
bayonets of hireling soldiery at "Golden Hill." 
There was no " Committee of Union Defence," to 
endow an army ■s\ith the panoply of war; but 
there were "minute men," each with his trusty 
gun, to lay both life and goods upon the altar oi 
patriotism. 

So from the gallant legions of Our Union, whose 
traanpyet shakes the massive warehouses of Broad- 



^^ THE QUAKEK S0LDIEK8. 



way, I go back, in spirit, to the niiister of that first 
devoted Eeginieiit of New York, whereof Alexan- 
der McDouG.VL was colonel, in the days of '76— 
McDougal, master-spirit of Liberty on Manhattan 
Island— a brave, unselfish man, of Avhom Wash- 
ington said, "His zeal is unquestionable ;" a loyal 
soul, whose voice rang forth from prison Avails, in 
fiery vindication of his country's cause. 

" I rejoice," said the brave McDougal, " that I 
am the first sufferer for Liberty, since the com- 
mencement of our glorious struggle !" 

O Liberty! Avhen shall the man arise Avhose 
happiness it shall be to ]3roclaim — " I am the last 
sufferer for American Freedom!" 

For, indeed, there are many battles yet to be 
Avaged, and many heroes to fight, and martyrs to 
die, ere the great bell of our Lidependence shall 
find tongue to peal the real meaning of its old 
inscription : 

" Proclaim Liberty throughout the Land, and to 
all the Lihabitants thereof!" 

In the days of our first Eevolution, men Avero 
moulded in the matrix of a month, and born in an 
hour, out of the lap of danger. Heroes sj)rang up 
full-armed, like fabled offspring of dragon's blood. 
Therefore it Avas that, Avhile McDougal Avas Avhis- 
pering bold thoughts to his Manhattan neighbors, 
Warren Avas counsehng AAdth fiiends at Boston, and 
tlie Avife of Knox Avas hiding her SAvord under her 
robe, that it might be ready for Bunker Hill battle. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 25 

Alul Lir away in tlio Carolinas, Marion and Sumter, 
and Mooiir:, and tlio boy Andrew Jackson, were 
listenjjig for Nortlierji eclioes to their hearts ; 
while the broad sword of Mercer was unsheathed 
on Virginian hills, and the claymore of McIntosh 
v»'as drawn on the plains of Georgia. 

It was then tliat Marblehead, m Massachusetts, 
(now dwindled to a fishing town) was rich enough 
to send her thousand lo^^al hearts, under bold John 
(tLover, to the camp at Cambridge. 

Then young Otho Williams hastened fi'om loyal 
Marjiand, and drew his maiden sword, that was to 
(lash thereafter o]i the field of Eutaw, waving the 
I>loody sickle of a bayonet charge, to reap the 
harvest of victory. 

V/ayfe and Thompson of Pennsylvania ; Pomroy 
and Nixon of the Bay State ; Putnam and Wooster 
of Connecticut ; Stark, and "Light Infantry Poor" 
of New Hampshu'e; stout Ethan Allen of Yer- 
inont ; Schuyler of New York ; Sullivan of IM^aine ; 
Greene of Rhode Island; are not these noble 
names still music to our ears ? Is not the memory 
of their bearers stiU sweet in the garden of glory ? 

And let us thank God, that everywhere, in the 
bloody years of our rightful war against treason, 
the names of such faithful soldiers are recorded 
upon the pages of impartial history. Not among 
Generals only — brave and venturous through they 
be — need we look for examples and models of 
patriotism. The hero of a knapsack is grand as 



26 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

tlie liero ol a baton. Martyrs ascend to Heaven 
from rank and file as luminously as from the field 
and staff. Poor Pluivevier Tidd, who fought with 
John Brown at Harper's Ferry, and who lay dying 
on his cot with deadly fever, while the batteries of 
Fort Donelson thundered in his ears, was no less 
a hero than if he had fallen at his sergeant's 
post in battle. " Is our side winning ?" he gasped, 
as the gunboat rocked beneath him ; and when his 
chaplain answered "Yes,'* the brave man said 
"Thank God!" and died. 

JohnBeman, the humble watchman of a steam- 
boat, hanged by rebels to a tree m Mississippi, 
because of being a loyal man, deserves his place 
upon the hero tablet, not less then our martyred 
Abraham Lincoln. " I will die before I take the 
Southern oath !" this bold Norwegian cried ; and 
they swung his body upward ; but his s«)ul soared 
higher than traitors could reach. 

"Don't mind me, boys! Go on with the fight I 
Don't stop for me!" said Orderly-Sergeant GoOD- 
FELLOW, at Bethel's fight. He gave his musket to 
a comrade, and sank dying in his place ; a hero- 
soldier, promoted in death to a rank with Greble 
and Winthrop, who fell not far from him. 

Of such as these are our heroes ; and the altars 
whereon we inscribe their names and modest rec- 
ords are as wide as the l)attle-fields of our Repub- 
lic. We are wealthy in these monuments of nation- 
ality — these shrines of liberty. The Republic is a 
temple, based upon, and columned, and walled, and 



THE QUAKER S0LD1KR3. 



2T 



arclied, hj sucli lofty and enduring stones of loy- 
alty. Under and above, and in tlie midst of de- 
parted heroism, our living heroes walk gloriously. 
I find no dearth of hero-men in our Repubhc's 
Past ; and when the annahsts of its latest struggle 
shall record the deeds of those who fell, and thor:G 
who survived, through the bloody years of Eebd- 
lion, there wiU l^e columns of fame inscribed with 
loyal names that shah blaze like a beacon throurh 
all the Future. 

So, then, to the homestead which had descend- 
ed to them, from maternal ancestors, through a 
hundred years ; to the widow, who wept-over her 
husband's recent grave; and to the orphans who 
cherished her reverent years ; thus, to these " plani 
people," and to the simple scenes around them, 
our War came, with its lessons of mortal and 
immortal significance. The same overruhn- 
Providence, that was to summon generals and 
admirals to their proud responsibiUties, spoke low 
into the ears and hearts of two young men, " of 
the people called Quakers," and impelled them 
away from home and kindred, to render up their 
lives in the battles of Liberty. 

These " people called Quakers," have done loyal 
service heretofore in battles that forever consecra- 
ted the soil of our land to fi-eedom. There was a 
Quaker, of Ehode Island— Greene the blacksmith, 
"who went forth conquering and to conquer" m 
that same South through which many of his de- 
scendants have marched to overcome Eebelhon. 



28 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

There were Quakers in Pennsjlvania, wlio sealed 
with their blood the holy testimony of religion to 
patriotism. And history has embalmed the mem- 
ory of those New Jersey "Friends/' who knelt 
beside Hugh Mercer, after the fight at Princeton, 
and received the last sigh of that gallant Scotch- 
man, as he died for American Independence. 

There are promptmgs of conscience and mov- 
ings of *'the Spirit," that are above all method or 
professions of rehgion. Blessed as is the creed of 
^'Peace," there may come occasions to its followers, 
when the voice of duty will thrill them as with a 
trumpet blast, and their souls must leap responsive 
to the mandate: 

"Arise, go up to the battle T' 

So, to our young strong men, in their quiet village 
of Milton, the voice of duty came with the first news 
from Sumter, and it knocked, month after month, at 
their hearts, till the eldest arose and girded his 
loins for conflict. 

He entered his country's service, "for three years 
or the war," on the nmeteenth of Augiist, 1862, in 
the One Hundred and Twentieth Eegiment of New 
York Infantry, under command of Colonel Sharpe. 
Havmg previously spent some time, assisting to 
recruit a company, he was enrolled as a Second 
Lieutenant of Company A., at Kingston, in Ulster 
County. His action was the result of a resolution 
taken after a close examination of conscience ; and 
a resolution once made by the son of David 
Ketcham was as unalterable as his sense of rii^ht 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 29 

His mother wept, and whispered her loving fears 
of the result ; but the brave boy could only answer 
fi'om his earnest soul — 

" No man is too good to die for his country." 
And so he turned from the sweet home, and the 
dear ones beneath its roof-tree. He kept down 
the choking sob in his bosom, and sought to smile 
away the doubts and apprehensions that hngered 
behind him. Who might conceive the depths of a 
mother's love, and who could measure the burden 
of her forebodings ? 

These boys were the hope of their only parent ; 
even as so many thousands of other noble youths 
were the solace and trust of parents equally fond 
and devoted. Looking at the parting of this 
Quaker mother fi'om her first-born marching to 
war, we may realize the grandeur of patriotism that 
inspired such multitudes of mothers, in our loyal 
land, to yield their hvmg jewels for the cause of our 
Republic. But to this poor mother the whisper 
of her fears was too prophetic. Not only her first 
born, but the youngest child of her bosom was to 
be taken fi-om her, and she was to mourn like 
Bachel, "because they were not.** 



30 , THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



The mental and moral excellences of the 
brothers Ketcham were not marred by mferior 
physical organization. Both were mnscularly de- 
veloped, above the medium height in stature, and 
of attractive presence as well as handsome features. 
Edward's complexion was fair. His eyes were 
blue, his hair and beard Kght. John had dark 
hair and eyes. His temperament was more poetic, 
perhaps, than that of his brother. Edward's was 
a joyous disposition, quick to appreciate wit, and 
to add to it. John was no less disposed to Hve- 
liness, but his feelings were deep and enthusiastic. 
Thus each brother was the other's complement, 
and they were equally beloved in the circle of their 
friends, equally cherished by their mother. 

Severe indeed was the trial to that fond mother, 
when her two noble boys wrestled with one 
another's affection, and with their great love for 
her, as opposed to the duty which each felt that 
he owed to their native country. Strange, indeed, 
was it, that, in the ancient homestead bequeathed 
by generations of " Friends," these descendants Qf 



TIIE QUAKEli SOLDirbS, 3l 

a minister of that peaceful society should argue, 
before that tearful i^arent, the obHgation which 
they felt that one ought to leave her for the battle- 
field. But, if they thus departed from the unwar- 
Hke faith of their great-grandfather, the Ulster 
County minister, they kept within their souls the 
spirit of that godly man, his purity of purpose, 
and his sympathy with humanity. 

" They cast lots !" and the lot fell upon the first- 
born. Edward was called to put on the armor of 
patriotism, and he w^ent forth exultmgly, in his 
consciousness of sacred duty. 

The mother and her youngest eon were left, to 
follow, from afar, with yearning tenderness, the 
marches of their absent one ; to long for " letters 
from camp ;" to tremble over the news of battles ; 
to commune with one another, in the night- 
watches, and mingle their reflections through the 
days ; to look at the vacant seat of their beloved ; 
to hope and to pray evermore for his return. It 
is the story of a myriad of family cucles — the rec- 
ord of bereaved homes throughout our land. 

Meanwhile, Edward, brave and earnest, was 
doing his duty manfully ; and, week by week, his 
welcome letters arrived to cheer the w^aiting ones 
iu his native village. Always loyal and inspiriting, 
never murmuring, never repining, those simple 
missives came like doves, " with healing on their 
wdngs." In reading their cheerful sentences, one 
w^ould think that marches and privations, and 
perils, Avere but episodes of a tour of pleasant 



32 TilE QtJAlvEti SOLi)lKRS* 

journeying. However arduous liis labors, or ex- 
posed his service, Edward, the "Quaker soldier," 
had no complaints to make, and no despondency 
to indulge in. To use his own terms, he was " all 
right," wherever and however his duty should call 
him. *' I am Avell and strong," he wrote, in de- 
scribing one of his earliest experiences, " and can 
march through mud, and rain or snow, and come 
out of it all right. When we v/ere marching the 
last day, through the mud, I asked the Major how 
it compared Avith the hard marching he had seen ; 
and he is an old soldier, and has done hard march- 
ing, and fighting, too. He said, " You can set 
this dov/n as a hard one." AYell, if this is a hard 
one, I can stand it, easil}'." 

Thus, strong-hearted and enthusiastic, the young 
lieutenant entered upon his country's service. 
His own letters to his mother and brother will 
best describe his military fortunes, as well as por- 
tray the development of his character. 

"Manasses Junction, Nov. 12th, 18G2. 
" Deak Mother. — It is now sometime since I have 
Avritten home, and we have had quite a little ex- 
perience. To begin with, we were ordered to 
march on Saturday, first of November. When 
the order came, I had been sick for three or four 
days with jaimdice — caused by my tent standing 
on a heap of dirt, deposited by another regiment 
that had previously occupied the ground. I could 
always perceive an offensive smell when I came into 



THE QUAKER SOLDTEES. 33 

tlie tent fi-om the fresli air ; suppose, if I had made 
a fuss about it, I might have had it moved ; but I 
expected the camp would be moved in a few days, 
as the ground had been condemned by the Doctor. 
I was not very sick, but sick enough to have it feel a 
good deal more comfortable to lie down than to sit. 
AYe marched about dark, I got my tilings all ready, 
and got a lock of ha}', and went down to the old 
cook house, and lay down before the fire, till the 
regiment was ready to start. I marched that 
night about eight miles, slept under a shelter tent. 
The next morning we started on a forced march. If 
it had not been that I made up my mind to keep up 
with the regiment, whether I could or not, I should 
have di'opped out. When we got to Centerville I 
was a used-up man. I slept the first night in a shel- 
ter tent, and then went to the hospital, which was in 
an old-fashioned house. Here I got into a comfort- 
able bed, and, with a bright fire burning on the 
hearth, it really seemed like home. I staid here only 
two nights, when the regiment again moved, this 
time to Bristow Station. I rode there in an ambu- 
lance ; and Captain got his tent pitched, and we 
gathered some leaves to make a bed, and got fixed 
cpiite comfortable. Next night the Chaplain sent 
word to me to come over to his tent, and spend the 
night. I accepted his kind offer. He has a stove 
he is entitled to have carried. The regiment was 
ordered to be ready to march in the morning. 
When morning came, I concluded it best for me to 
try to keep with the regiment. I strapped niy 



34 THE QUAKER SOLDlEllS. 



blankets that I usually carry on my back, and put 
them in with the baggage, as I did not feel able to 
cany them. I started on, but could not keep up. 
The regiment marched along the railroad, and I took 
the track. After I had gone two or three miles, I 
came by a soldier marching slowly. He said, if I 
was sick he had something for me. For I was about 
used up. This something, proved to be a canteen of 
whiskey," [which nothing but, extremity would 
have induced him to touch] "so I took a swallow or 
tv/Oj and got strength enough for a-nother mile- 
After I had gone this distance, and Avas again about 
exhausted, I saw coming on behind me a hand car, 
pushed by four or five men from an other regiment, 
with cooking utensils. I asked them for a ride, and 
they took me on, as I told them I was sick and 
tired. After riding and getting a little rested, I 
offered to walk agam ; but they insisted that I 
should not. They went along at a lively gait, and 
we finally came up with our regiment. Here they 
stopped to rest, and I, pretty well rested, went on 
with the regiment. After marchmg with the regi- 
ment a mile or two. Doctor Collier offered me the 
privilege of riding his horse a little while. I rode a 
mile or so, and then we had not far to go. I got 
along pretty well. Of course, the baggage wagons 
did not come up, and my blankets were behmd* 
The Doctor, however, got quarters for himself 
several other men and me, in an old house with 
the windows knocked out, and the doors knocked 
in ; but there was a good fireplace, and the Doctor 



rilE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 35 

gave me part of his blankets. I laid my feet to 
the fire and slept like a prince. The next morning 
we started back to Manasses Junction. I marched 
three or four miles, and then rode the Doctor's 
horse a mile or more, and then got into the ambu- 
lance, that had come on that morning, and rode 
the rest of the way, and slept again with the 
Chaplain. The Captam advised me to apply for 
leave of absence for a few days to go to Washing- 
ton and get cured up. I concluded I would do so* 
The next day, I got the Doctor's certificate, the 
Captain's approval, and the Colonel's, and went to 
the Colonel commanding brigade. After waiting 
till five o'clock, he came in, and I got his signature. 
I thought I would see it through that night, so 
I started over to Gen. Sickles' headquarters. His 
Adjutant General told me I would have to see Dr 
SiMMS first, whose office was there, and that he 
would be in at nine o'clock in the morning. I 
then started back to camp, sick, disappointed and 
tired ; it was so dark I could hardly see. I came 
along by a house that was occupied by a sick sur- 
geon of our own brigade, so I asked the privilege 
of staymg all night, which was cheerfully granted. 
He asked me to take supper, which I did, and 
slej^t on the floor, with my feet to the fire. I had 
my breakfast there the next morning, and then 
went back to see Dr. Simms ; he told me there was 
a slight irregularity in the Surgeon's certificate ; 
but that, if it was all correct, it would have to go, in 
the first place, to Gen. Sickles, then to Gen. 



30 THE QrAKER SOLDIEKS. 

ZELMJ^ commciuding corps, and from there 
to Washington, before Gen. Halleck, and that it 
would take at least ten days. I made up my mind 
to go back to the Chaplain's, and make myseK 
as comfortable as I could ; and I guess I have 
everytliing I need. I got through with my sick 
leaye business yesterday and to-day. I feel very 
much better, and expect to be all right m two 
or three days. I do not lack for fiiends, and hayo 
eyerything I need. I will say this for the private 
soldier, whether in my own regiment or out of it, I 
noyer asked a fayor of an}' single one that was not 
cheerfully granted ; and I belieye that ninety- 
nine of eyery hundred would giye away his last 
hard tack. Now, don't be putting on the blues 
because I am sick, for I am getting better, and 
would not write until I could say, in truth, that I 
was better. I am all oyer the jaundice, but haye 
had a yery hard, tight cough, which is now grow- 
ing loose ; so that I begin to raise a httle. 

The prospect is, that we will not moye yery 
soon ; so I shall haye time enough to get well, 
which will not take long. The Chaplain is a first- 
rate man, and is kind to the sick ; not only to 
oilicers, but privates ; and to me he has been a 
good Samaritan. I have not time to write more, 
but will write m a few days agam, if possible. 
Affectionately, thy son, 

E. H. Ketcham.'* 



TilE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 37 



The brave spirit of Edward Ketcham was more 
efficacious than medicine to restore liis strength. 
The sense of duty absorbed his energies again, 
and we find his enthusiastic nature dictating the 
following manly letter to his mother : — 

" Maxasses Junction, Xoy. ISth, 1862. 

" Dear Mother : 

" I AM'ote home and said that I was sick ; but 
I am very happy to say that I am a great deal 
better ; m fact, about well. So don't feel uneasy, 
for nothing short of a rebel bullet will kill me, 
I think. We are now all the tune expecting 
orders to march, to what place I do not pretend to 
know ; but the knowmg ones say, to Fredericks- 
burg, which, from every indication and the situa- 
tion of our forces, I think not unhkely. I have 
seen nothing that leads me to think that w^e shall 
march to-day ; but we will not stay here long, as 
the railroad here is to be abandoned, because our 
army has got in such a position that thoy can 
draw supphes easier and better in some other 
way. They are gettmg the stores away as rapidly 
as possible, and when they are all gone, why then, 
of course, w^e will not be needed hero to guard 



38 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

this road any longer, and we will probably tlien 
join our coips, tliat of Gen. Hooker's. "Well, all I 
ask is health, and I am about well, and will be 
able to carry my blankets, and keep up with 
the regiment, without any trouble, and am worth 
now half a dozen dead men. Once more, I have 
to urge thee to have no uneasiness about me, for I 
am not now sick, and if I were, I have never 
lacked for fiiends, and I don't thmk I shall; 
for, from the Colonel, all the way down to the pri- 
vate, I have asked no favors that have not been 
promptly granted. I was just a Httle homesick for 
a day or two, while I was sick ; but am over it 
now I have faith that, when the war is ended, I 
shall be home agam all right, and I only fear that 
I shall find thee the worse for the worry and 
anxiety that I know are bestowed on me. Don't, 
for heaven's sake, fret and worry, on my account, 
if for no other reason ; because I want to see my 
mother wlien I come back (if it is my fortune to do 
so,) as I left her, not broken do^wai with useless 
anxiety on my account ; so be as cheerful as possi- 
ble, and think, if it should be my lot to be 
among those who are never to return, that I shall 
die dohig my duty ; and that is the way a man 
should die ; for die he must, and a few years more 
or less don't make much difference, so that when 
the end comes it finds us at our posts with our 
harness on our backs. It is not the business of a 
man's life to devote himself, simply, to saving that 
life ; but to do his duty, whatever it may be, and 



i^HE QUAKER SOLDIER^. 39 

let life take care of itself. So in either event don't 

feel uneasy about me, for I have no fear for myself, 

and I do not wish any one to worry uselessly 

for me. So, hurrah for the second grand army ! 

It is going to do its duty, and it won't be sacrificed 

to strategy, thank God, with Bur.NSiDE and Abea- 

HAM Lincoln. 

Affectionately, thy c^on, 

E. H. Ketcham." 

And again, to " Mother and Jack :" 

"Wolf Eun, Nov. 23d, 18G2. 
" Dear Mother and Jack : 

" I have now to tell that we have had i^art of our 
expected march, as I expected. I have been able 
to do duty all through it so far. We halted in the 
rain at Centreville, to get our dmner, which con- 
sisted of hard tack, a httle piece of cooked beef or 
raw pork or bacon, and coffee. The coffee is 
generally cooked in a tin cup, with which each 
man goes armed ; that was the way I cooked mine ; 
and, after adding sugar, drank fi'om the same cup. 
It really was excellent, upon that rainy day, 
sitting on the wet ground, eating a hard tack, 
and nibbling a piece of cold beef. It tasted as good 
as any coffee I ever drank made at home, Avhere 
every convenience was at hand. 

After we had finished our meal and rested a 
little, we moved on, the mud still getting worse and 
worse, until, in some jplaces, we were literally, 
without any exaggeration, up to our ankles. We 



40 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

lialtcci tliat niglit at Fairfax Cliurcli. It was dark 
when we stopped, liaving marched about twelve 
miles, pretty good marching under the circum- 
stances. My tent was with the baggage train, half 
a mile off, in which direction, it was so dark, 
we could not tell. So I made my arrangements 
to get down under, or wrapped in, my blankets* 
with my rubber on, on the outside. One of the 
men offered to lie down in the raiji and let me 
have his tent. Who would I be, to do that ? But 
I crawled in with two men, where the third one had 
gone out on duty. So you see that, after all, there 
will always something turn up, no matter how 
dusty thmgs may look. It did not rain quite all 
the time, and the boys made up a glorious big fire 
right in front of the tent ; and whenever it did not 
rain, for a few minutes, I would dry my feet, 
and when it commenced again, would draw them 
in again. In this way, before I went to sleep, I 
had them thoroughly dry. My rubber blanket 
kept us from the wet ground, and my blankets, 
that had been wrapped in it, and were perfectly dry, 
kept me and one of the boys warm. S j I slept on 
the wet ground, and kept dry and warm, wet over 
and wet under ; but dry within the little shelter. 
I went through fire and did not gt't burned. I 
felt well in the morning, and the cough that had 
troubled me the night before, when I slept in 
a tent, with a fire and everything as c jmfortable 
as in a house, did not trouble me at all. The next 
morning tlie drums beat for a start, J felt ready 



TliE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 41 

and better able to do a good day's marcliing tlian 
I did the day before." 

At this camp, Lieut. Ketcham remained some 
days, and tlien took up the march for Falmouth 
from which place his next letter was written : 

" Falmouth, Nov. 29th, 1862. 
^' Dear Mothee and Brother : 

" The last time I wrote to you w^e were at Wolf 
Eun Ford. We arrived here yesterday, about two 
o'clock, and are now comfortably encamped, about 
(as the date of this shows) one-and-a-half miles 
fi'om Fredericksburg, and our baggage-train came 
up last night. 

The men were short of rations this morning, 
some of them being improvident, having wasted 
part of the two days' rations issued — and I be. 
heve we did not receive quite full rations, either ; 
but we expect the wagons up very soon now. Some 
had not enough for supper last night, and more 
than half of our company had nothing for break- 
fast ; so I started out, this morning, on my own 
hook, and, after begging like a cripple, succeeded 
in buying ten pounds of crackers, or hard bread, 
which gave each man who had nothing a couple 
of crackers — rather a light breakfast, but better 
than none. For m^'self, I have had plenty, and 
some to give to others. This mornmg I was lucky 
enough to overhaul a rabbit that was going through 
the woods, close by camp, without taking the pre- 



42 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



caution to send out scouts, to see if tlie ground was 
occupied. He will make a good dinner, but if the 
men aU around are hungry yet, he will not taste 
very good ; but I guess the wagons w^ill be here 
before that time. We started from our old camp, 
where we had lain three days, on the 25th, early 
in the mornmg, and marched about ten miles that 
day, crossmg Wolf-Eun early in the morning, ford- 
ing the stream that came up to our knees. We 
were allowed time enough to take off our shoes 
and stockings, so it only amounted to washing our 
feet, which certainly did not hurt some of us. We 
encamped that night in a field that was soaked 
pretty well with water. I crawled mto a tent, with 
three of the boys, and my rubber blanket compen- 
sated for the crowding I gave them. Although it 
rained some in the night, it amounted to nothing- 
more serious than wetting the end of my blankets, 
that poked out of the tent, and made them a little 
heavy to carry. We did not march more than 
seven or eight miles the next day, the roads being 
so very heavy, and the division wagon-train being 
so constantly stuck in the mud, and in our way. 
I never saw such roads. Sometimes the wagons 
would sink down to the axle ; it seemed to take a 
good deal of hard swearing to get them out. We 
encamped this night in a nice wood, along the 
road, which this day and the next ran all the way 
through pme timber — worn-out tobacco land, 
which had been abandoned, and grown up with 
pines. One of the boys, with whom I tented, was 



TITE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 43 

fortunate enougli to knock over a good, fat turkey, 
that made a good breakfast for several of us, and 
left some to put in our haversacks. So I had 
turkey on Thanksgiving day, for breakfast and 
dinner. 

We did not start very early the next morning, 
and moved slowly, on account of the bad roads 
and baggage-train, and halted an hour before sun- 
down ; but, just as the men had gathered wood, 
and part of them had then- tents pitched, the 
order came to move on, and we had to pull up 
stakes, and jog along ; much to the disgust of the 
men. We marched rapidly for about two or three 
miles, and then halted in a nice wood, when they 
soon forgot tlieii' anger in sleej^. The next morn- 
ing we moved on about six miles, to where I am 
now writing. We are now part of a grand army, 
and for the whole march yesterday, we passed en- 
campments on each side of the road, and their 
name is " legion." Yes, we are now in the ad- 
vance, and any hour we may be called upon to "up 
and at it." Some of the men and officers who 
have been talking, all along, about when we get 
into winter quarters, will probably find quarters 
that will last lonsjer than the winter — lonsrer than 
the war ; and the plough, as it turns the sod fifty 
years hence, will turn out their bones, and the 
plowman will turn them over with his foot, with a 
" KiUod at the battle of ." But it is not bat- 
tles and bullets that kill the most men ; it is ex- 
posure, improvidence, and hard marching. I can- 



44 TfiE QUAKER SOLMERS. 

not seem to realize that we are so near actual 
fighting, and, in fact, now think a good deal more 
about where our dinner is to come from, than 
about Stonewall Jackson. I want Jack to send 
me $25 ; not that my money is out jet, but I do 
not want to get out ; I may sometimes want to 
spend a httle for the bojs, as I did this morning. 
" Affectionately, your son and brother, 
E. H. Ketcham.'* 



THE QtAKEH SOLtHERB. 45 



li> LLING back, from its position before the 
e]>oJ^ij, our army encamped near Falmoutli ; and 
from quarters there, Lieutenant Ketcham ^Tote 
letters to liis home, filled with the manly confi- 
dence that was characteristic of his nature. One 
of these is dated — 

"Old Camp near F.^lmouth, Dec. 17th, 1862. 
" Dear Mother and Brother : 

" The last letter I wrote home, was dated " Field 
of Battle," and I supposed, fi'om the preparations 
that were going on, that we Avere to have fighting 
in earnest ; but at night, about eleven o'clock, we 
were waked up, and told to keep as quiet as pos- 
sible; for the whole army were on the retreat 
across the river. We packed up our blankets, and 
got ready to start, and were then ordered to 
waken the men, as quietly as possible, and get 
them in line. Our division was then drawn up in 
line, in front of the enemy, to cover the retreat of 
the vast army. The men were not told what was 
up ; but, with a constant passing of troops, mostly 



46 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



on a double-quick, they knew as well as we, what 
was up. Of all things to try the courage of new 
troops, or old ones, is the position we then held ; 
with the cowards and stragglers, that had broken 
away fi'om their regiments, and were going on a 
double-quick to the river, and calling out, " You 
had better hurry up, or the rebels will have you." 
But no man thought of leaving the ranks, until 
our work was done, and we, too, were ordered to 
the river. There was one regiment that had got 
separated from its division, and came "skedaddhng" 
down by us, and going in all kinds of shapes; 
while our men were in perfect order, almost. The 
120th behaved Hke men, and I have no doubt of 
our boys. The wind blew towards us from the 
rebels, and we could hear them cutting wood for 
their batteries — that is, clearmg the timber — and 
I don't beheve they suspected our bemg off, till 
hours after we were over. The thing was a pev- 
fect success ; for moving such an army over a 
narrow bridge, before the enemy, is a difficult 
thing. I believe we could have whipped them 
where we were, but it would have cost three of 
our men to one of theirs ; as we were on a plain, 
commanded on every side, but the river, by a range 
of hills, covered with timber, and planted with 
batteries that would have been difficult for us to 
get at. Gen. Buenside knew his business; and 
what has the appearance of a retreat, was really 
a good piece of strategy; but I hate the word. 
We did some skirmishing, and had the bullets 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 47 

whistling close to our heads; and one night the 
rebels threw shells so close, that we could hear 
them "flop" in the mud. But enough of this fight. 
I am alive and Avell, and never felt better. I can 
sleej) with or without blankets ; with or without 
tent ; with or without fire ; Avith or without rain, 
in the middle of December ; and come out next 
morning, Hvely as ever, and don't mind it. 

I have never knowai what it was to really suffer, 
from hunger or cold ; and I Imow that soldiers 
letters, (officers included) are, nine times out of 
nine, one-half exaggerations. So, don't believe 
the stories that Avill, doubtless, innocently and in 
good faith, be sent back to Milton, by the boys 
who came from there ; for, in the eyes of some, a 
mole hill is a mountain. Don't think that, because 
I am an officer, I fare better than they. When it 
comes hard times in the field, there is no difference 
to speak of ; only the men drew rations on the 
field, and the officers did not. I had bread and 
meat in my haversack, however, when I got back. 
We have got our tents and baggage, and are com- 
fortable ; and I have no trouble on my mind, ex- 
cept a fear that my mother may worry herself sick, 
on my account, though I hope she may not. Don't 
think I am going to be killed or wounded. It is 
all nonsense to borrow trouble from the future. I 
will live, if I am to hve, and die if I am to die ; 
which, I suppose, I shall some day — if not on the 
battle-field; and it is only a question of time. 
Next time we cross the Eappahannock, I guess it 



48 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

will be a sure go ; so, hurrali for Buenside, and 
our army ! 

" Affectionately, your son, and brotlier, 
"E. W. Ketcham." 

In this manner, with his brave heart ever dis- 
posed to make the best of all situations, Lieuten- 
ant Edward Ketchum kept his post of duty with 
the regiment to which he belonged. His letters 
to fi'iends at home are aU marked with the same 
earnestness of purpose, and it was natural that their 
effect upon his brother John should be to stimu- 
late a desire to follow so gallant an example. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 49 



CHAPTEB VI. 

''BROTHER JACK." 

While the elder brother was enduring, with 
cheerful spirit, the discomforts and fatig^ies in- 
separable fi'om military hfe on the march, the 
younger one became daily more dissatisfied with 
his inaction at home. Every letter from camp was 
to hnn a fi-esh excitement. The desire to jom his 
brother, and participate in the glories and dangers 
of their country's service, grew upon him con- 
stantly. It was his dream by night, his thought 
by day, to foUow Edward to the battle-field. 
Affection for his mother withheld him, for many 
months, from declaring the wish of his heart ; but, 
at length, he could no longer repress his feelings.' 
The widow felt that her other boy was to be 
removed fi-om her ; that she must ofler another 
sacrifice to the cause of her native land. 

Then followed a pleading letter from " Jack" to 
Edward, disclosmg his purpose to jom the army, 
whether by enhstment or appomtment, avowmg 
his sense of duty, and his resolution to be giuded 
by it. Edward was not prepared for this, and 
endeavored to dissuade his brother from the step 



50 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

wliicli the latter proposed to take. Zealous in the 
cause of our Union as the young lieutenant was, 
he could not but feel anxiety regarding a beloved 
brother, and a mother, so dear to them, who must 
be deprived of both her sons for years, and — the re- 
flection was a solemn one — perhaps, forever. He 
felt it to be an obligation upon him to combat the 
wish that " Jack" expressed, by every proper argu- 
ment ; and with this view he replied to him, in the 
following letter : 

" Camp near Falmouth, Va., Jan. 11th, 18G3. 
" Dear Jack : 

" I received a letter from ^-ou by Col. Sharpe, 
and you may suj^pose I Avas somewhat surprised. 
Now, Jack, if we were both at home, and each 
knew as much as the other about the matter* 
I would not presume to give advice ; but in the 
present case, I " know" something about what you 
purpose doing, and you do not. This should give 
what I say some weight. I will state the case as 
concisely as possible. You propose to come heref 
and take, what place you can get. Jack, if you 
should jom the army, by right of education, intel- 
ligence and manhood, as well as by your habits of 
life, you are fitted for an officer, and would make 
as good a one as there is in the regiment ; but 
it would be hard work to make men who have 
been with us from the start, and who do not know 
you, have that confidence in you that is essential 
to make an officer useful, no matter how good he 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 51 

may be. If you come, then, you will have to be a 
private or what is the same thing, a " Non. Com." 
Now, the chance of getting out of such a scrape 
by promotion is about equal to being struck by 
hghtning. Jack ! to men who have been used 
to obeying the will of others, the severe restraint 
of mihtary law, when aclmmisterecl by the best of 
officers, comes tough enough ; but, w^hen it is 
aclmmisterecl by a cowardly tjTant, as it often is, 
if the victim is a man who has pluck enough to do 
good service — and his habits have been such as 
yours have been, — he has pluck enough to get 
himself into trouble. Every man who holds a 
commission can protect his own rights ; but 
though you may read the contrary m the Articles 
of War, as they are written on paper, I tell you I 
have read them written in another way ; and as 
I have read them, a private or non-commissioned 
officer has no right, practically, that shoulder- 
straps are bound to respect. I tell you, you are 
too much of a man to be anybody's dog ; you have 
too much brains to be a simple cog in a great 
machine, and you can't be a crank. Now, Jack, I 
think I have as much patriotism as you, and 
am willing, if necessary, to die for the cause of the 
Unity entire of this government, and do not wish 
to Hve to see its overthrow ; but I am not availing 
to Hve a private. There is one other thing, the 
most important of all : our mother has a claim on 
you and me, equal to the claims of the nation. 
One of her sons is here fighting for his country. 1 



52 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

have had a severe training and have a position 
where I am worth something — at least so I flatter 
myself. You have had no experience, and have no 
position where jour worth can assert itself. The 
most ignorant man, or a jail-bird, would be Avorth 
in the ranks as much as you, perhaps more. I 
don't believe in using a shovel made of gold, 
to shovel mud, when one of steel would answer 
better. Oar mother, in her declining ^^ears, has a 
right to one of her two sons, at least, and when I 
left home I thought that you would stay. You 
remember, when the war first broke out, that we 
cast lots, which should sta}^ ; it fell to you, and 
though it may come tough, stay like a man, and 
don't murmur. Jack ! I may fall a victim to rebel 
bullets, or disease, that strikes oftener and harder, 
I want you to stay at home, and save our name 
and race ; for it is at least worth saving, and trust 
us, in spite of the disaster at Fredericksburg, to 
put it through and save the nation. We have 
changed camp to a lovely spot, and I have a com- 
fortable shanty ; about eight feet by fourteen, and 
a good fire-place and chimney, and am as com- 
fortable as you need wish to see a soldier ; but it 
may be for one day, or it may be a month, no one 
can tell. I must close in time for the mail. 

" Affectionately, 3'our brother, 
"Edward Ketcham." 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 53 



In a letter to his mother, a few days later, on 
the subject of his brother joining the armj,' he 



" Understand me, I think no man too good to 
fight or die for his country ; but Jack can't take a 
place that is fitted for him in this regiment; be- 
cause there is none open, and it is bad economy 
for a man with brains to take a place where he can 
only use his body ; besides, I cannot bear the idea 
of my mother alone and childless ; for she has the 
right to lean, m her dechnmg years, on the strong 
arm of one of her sons ; a right that no duty 
to country can exceed ; but enough about Jack, he 
will do as he ought. If he can get a commission, 
let him come." 

" Camp near Falmouth, Va., Feb. 18th, 1863. 
" Dear Mother : 

'' I received a letter from thee and John yesterday 
and one from him to-day. I know, of course, it 
must come hard to thee to part with him, and be 
left alone ; but, still thee has kind and sympathiz- 
ing friends, who will do all that they possibly can, 
to make thy hard lot, as I must call it, easy. Now, 
perhaps, it will somewhat sofien thy grief, if I teil 
thee that the hardships of war are greatJy exag- 
gerated. I have seen men, who told'a^^ful stories 
of their sufferings in their campaign before Eich- 
mond, brought to admit, that what they were then 
enduring equaled any suffering they had before 



64 - THE QUAKER SuLDIERS. 

met with. Now, I liave never yet seen the three 
consecutive hours, when I suffered either from 
cold, heat, thirst, or liunger ; or much on account 
of fatigue, Now, sokliers, as a rule, like to be 
heroes ; in fact, that brought a large share of them 
here, and if they don't exaggerate considerably, in 
their letters home, why, their fiiends would not 
have a chance to indulge in hero-worship ! Thus, 
it comes, that wonderful stories are told ; and then 
it is natural to make any transaction of their own 
as big as possible, to some people ; so, the big 
yarns find their Avay home. " Never believe but 
half a traveler tells you," is a pretty safe rule ; but 
when you come to a soldier, why, reject two-thirds 
and trim the balance. Doubtless, the wounded 
and sick have suffered ; but I believe that the 
instances where the well soldier has suffered to 
any great extent are scarce ; never from hunger ; 
except, perhaps, when the baggage-trains have 
been lostx)r capture .1. 

But what if we do suffer some, occasionally, what 
does it all amount to ? Who expects to go through 
life, gathering roses, from which the thorns have 
been plucked ? The back should be shaped to the 
burden. Mother, to tell the truth, I did cherish 
a hope that Jack would be disappoi.uted in getting 
off; but it seems I was disappointed. I hoped 
this only on thy account ; for I believe these times, 
and this war, call for just such men as he ; and, 
though he is my only brother, and I know full 
well his value, I would not have had him prove 



tilE QtTAKEK SOtDIEKS. 55 

himself not what I thought him, even if, by so 
doing, he had staid at home. I wish the necess- 
ity were not ; but, as it is, if he had chosen to 
stay at home, it would have gone far to j^rove that 
he was not worth coming. He may live to return 
a hero, or, he may die a martyr. But, in either 
event, he will have lived and done his duty, and 
he who, when death looks him in the face, can say, 
in truth, I have done my duty, has lived a lifetime, 
though the blood of youth still courses through 
his veins. 

.Lovnigiy, thy son, 

Edward H. Ketcham." 



The kindly arguments of Edward Ketcham, to 
change his brother's purpose, were, as might be 
expected, of no avail ; for " Jack" shared in the 
firmness characteristic of their family, and he 
had reasoned with himself long before finally 
adopting the resolution to become a soldier. To 
this brave youth, the same stern voice of duty that 
had invoked his elder brother was calling, with 
equal emphasis. If it was right in one to obey 
the summons, it must be wrong for the other to 
disregard it. The spirit of piety and patriotism 
combined to urge them both. They had alike 
sought counsel of their Heavenly Father, and the 
spirit had said to them, " Come !" Could the mere 
casting of lots absolve either fi-om the necessity of 
obedience to that higher law of their nature which 



^6 TtlE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

declared their places to be in the front of battle ? 
John's reason and religion said " nay" to this, and 
he announced the verdict of conscience in his 
reply to Edward's letter of the 11th of Janiiar}'. 
In this rejoinder he says : 

" I received yours of the 11th, last night. It is 
all very good logic as fa:; as it goes ; but if I had 
gone to the war, and you were at home, you would 
see it in a different light. You say, that, if you 
knew that I would go, you would not have gone ; it 
may be so, or it may only appear so to you now ; 
but this I beueve : you in my place would do as I 
do. I know that it is mother that makes the 
sacrifice. But in the grand result, this carnage, 
and the hearts wrung with anguish, are as dust 
in the balance. If this struggle goes against us, 
and I at home, like a miserable clod-hopjDer, who 
can't see outside of his own fences, the conscious- 
ness of not having done my duty would come 
down upon me like the brand of Cain. 

Ed ! I am thinkmg about the war, night and day^ 
and it is nonsense for me to try to keep out of 
it. It is the place for a man, and, if there is any 
man in me, my place ; if not, no less. 

I can arrange the business so as not to sacrifice 
much. The most important thing is, the grief it 
causes motl>er ; but I believe there is no grief of 
that kind but has its compensation. 

" John." 



THE QUAKER SOLDTEES. 57 



CHAPTER VIII. 

W O R DS OF PATRIOTISM. 

This tissue of cotton tlireads, wliicli I fling out 
before me-^vhat is it ? No thrill of life responds 
from it; no voice returns my invocation of it; no 
pressure vibrates on my lips, as I enclasp and kiss 
it as a bride. 

Yet for this web and woof of simple cotton, span 
by hand or loom, there shall be myriads of men 
ready to lay down their Hves, as myriads ha^•e 
done ; there shall be tears and prayers, and kisses, 
and such deeds achieved for it as lift up mortals 
to be demi-gods. 

For this tissue of threads, red, white, and blue, 
is the FLAG of my country. It is an emblem ; it is 
a symbol ; it is an imbodied idea. 

Robing themselves in this drapery, men have 
Avooed danger as a mistress, and died upon her 
bosom, exultingly. Wrapped in its starry folds, 

they have lapsed fi'om suffering into martyrdom 

from glory into immortahty. Death- stricken 
heroes have looked their last upon it, and smiled 
as if mothers were blessing them. Fugitives from 
tyranny have caught its first gleams, with their 
souls leaping upward to worship it. The sick 
have stretched out their feeble arms to it; the 



5B THE i^UAKER SOLDlfeKS. 

weary prisoner lias yearned for its sight, as tlie 
*' hart panteth for the water brooks." 

I hav6 seen poor comrades in captivity creep 
out of their hiits, under the darkness of midnight, 
and^ chistering together hke shadows^ surround 
this treasured emblem with their throbbing hearts, 
and pass its precious folds fi'om lip to lij^, in 
holy Communion of patriotism. 

Symbol of an idea — of manifold ideas — the flag 
of an army, or a people, or a nationality, or a 
cause — how immeasurable its influence — how ex- 
alted its inspiration. Depress it, and the hearts 
of men sink within them ; uplift it, and those hearts 
become winged, like eagles. Its tissues are woven 
into multitudinous memories — its colors are 
blended with infinite hopes. There is no thread 
of its web that is not moistened, no hue that is not 
gilded, v>^ith the priceless blood of heroism. 

Thus the flag becomes an emblem of faith, a 
beacon of aspirations, a cynosure of veneration. 
It writes, as with sunbeams upon ether, the name 
and the path of a cause which it marshals. Yet 
the flag itself is but a symbol. Its dazzle is but 
the reflex of an idea that dwells in the army 
or nation whose cause it foreruns and identifies. 
That idea may be patriotism, or religion, or Hb- 
erty ; whatsoever it be, it is the soul, whereof 
armies and nations are but bodily manifestations. 

And it is to some tender or gallant quality in 
the man that a flag appeals so potently. I care 
not if he be common soldier or sailor, or if his 



fXIE QUAKER SOLDIERS. . 59 



slioulcler be doubly or trebly starred ; his soul 
must thrill lovingly to the waving of his flag, or 
he is no true man in the hour of trial. We have 
rank and titles, for leaders ; princely guerdons for 
their services ; monuments for their memories. 
But the IDEA of that ca\ise, which upraised these 
heroes, may be far more vital in a private's soul 
than in that of his chiefest commander. The piety 
of a Christian is not measured by riches, nor re- 
stricted by poverty. The idea of patriotism or of 
liberty is not written upon a parchment commis- 
sion, but upon the Hving heart of a man. Bright 
is the sword of a captain, but the flames of his 
powder-black muskets reach farther mto the dark- 
ness of battle. 

I follow, with hushed breath, the firm tread of 
a battle-lme of unnoted heroes, or the double-quick 
of their charge into the bowels of fiery batteries. 
There is no waver in that foremost rank, no gap in 
all those files. Who, then, shall I choose out, as 
the hero-one? What matter is it that the few 
wear shoulder-straps and the many have no badge ? 
There is no hero-one ; they are all heroes. CajDtain, 
corporal, guide, or color-bearer, or drummer-boy ; 
black-skinned or white ; they are in one battle-line, 
and each man keeps his post in the march or the 
melee. Who, then, shall I. choose as my hero ? 
They are all heroes. 

And such was Ed ward Ketcham, in his smgie- 
hearted devotion to the flag and the cause of his 
country. This inspired him with courage in the 



^^ " THE QITAKKR SOLDIllK^. 

battle, as it tiplield liim with faith through rough 
marches, and sustained him with hope, imder pri- 
vation and hardship. He bore himself upon the 
field of Chancellorville, as a Christian soldier 
should; and his noble reflections, committed to 
paper after that sanguinary fight, are worthy of 
being "learned and conned by rote," in every 
household of our land. Brave youth ! may his 
words be prophetic as regards the good that is to 
follow the evil of rebellion ! That simple letter to 
his mother, after the engagement at Chancellor- 
ville, is a mamorial of her martyr son more hon- 
orable to his memory than the proudest eulogy 
could be. 

" Camp near Falmouth, May 12th, 18G3. 
*' My dear Mother : 

" I wrote to thee from the battle-field, after we 
had come out of the fight, and telegraphed to thee : 
and again after we had recrossed the river. If 
thee received either, I, of course, do not know ; 
but I will repeat the vital part of both. Jack and 
I are close together once more ; both well and 
hearty. This old camp was, during last winter, a 
pleasant place. AVinter has gone, and the quiet 
and repose, that were then not only endurable but 
somewhat pleasant, are so no longer ; and I shall be 
truly glad when we shall leave it, for good ; I can 
bid good bye to the old log cabin without regret. 
Mother, the short campaign, which Ave have just 
passed through, was (me of hardship ; but, to me» 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



61 



its hardest experience was mere play ; I am able 
to stand just such, for six months, without incon- 
venience. God help the army of the Potomac, if 
we are ever so hard-worked that I give out ; for 
there are few that can stand the pressure after 
that. Mother, this time spent here is not lost 
time — I mean I personally sacrifice nothing. I 
have often thought that old age, that has no ex- 
perience of hardship or adventure to fall back on, 
when the time comes that we Hve in the past as I 
now do in the future, must be somewhat barren. 
If I come out all right, and do not fail to do my 
duty, just the experience of the last nine months 
I would not part with for all the wealth of New 
York C^ity. 

It is commonly thought that a soldier's hfe is 
rather calculated to demoraHze. I do not believe 
it. It may appear so on the surface ; but there 
is many a man here in this army, who has never 
thought a serious thought before, who thinks now, 
and, when he goes back to home and friends, he 
will go back to reahze that there is something for 
him to live for besides himself. It does men good 
TO SUFFER FOR A GOOD CAUSE. It someliow iden- 
tifies them with it ; and, as one good cause is 
linked with everything else that is good and noble, 
a man in fighting for hberty somehow fights his 
way to goodness. The general effect on the men 
here will be humanizing, and wdth peace — an hon- 
orable one as we mean to win — will come national 
virtue. It is a tough sight, for one who looks 



C2 THE QUAKER SOLBIERS. 

only on tlie surface, to see the noblest and the 
bravest of the land, Hmpmg, and bleedmg, and 
dying, as I saw them on the field of battle. But, 
when you look upon a man who died stoutly doing 
his duty, and can reahze that he died to save some- 
thing better than life, it does not seem so awful as 
it would. It was an awful picture we looked uj^on 
the other day ; but it had a bright as well as a 
dark side. There were many brave men who saw 
the last of earth, on that battle-field of Chancel- 
lorville, and many tears will flow, for many a year. 
But, what are these tears, to the bitter ones a 
mother sheds over an erring son, out of whom 
every thing good has died, and only his body lives. 
If Ave were whipped at Chancellorville, as the Cop- 
perheads say we were, I think such gettmg whip- 
ped, on our j)art, will soon use up the Confederacy. 
Their loss must have been fearful ; for they came 
up,' time after time, right in fi'ont of our batteries, 
closed en masse, and were just let to come close 
enough, when our guns, double-shotted with grape, 
would pile them in heaps, and send them back, ut- 
terly cut to pieces. This was not only one occur- 
rence, but it was done over and over again. But 
I must stop. 

Aifectionately, thy son, 

Edward H. Ketcham." 



THE QUAKER SOLDIEKS. 63 



CHAPTER YIII. 

NOTES ON A MARCH. 

From tlie notes made by Edward, on his march 
from Falmouth, a few extracts may here be inter- 
esting. The unstudied language of familiar corres- 
pondence affords a better insight to the thoughts 
and impressions of these youths than any labored 
rhetoric could give ; and for this reason I have 
preferred to let their simple letters to a beloved 
parent portray the growth and progress of loyal 
sympathies, as well as depict the routine of camp 
experience. It was during the march which 
these notes of Edward Ketcham describe, that the 
brothers met for the last time on earth. Soon af- 
terwards followed that terrible battle of Gettys- 
burg, m which so many noble lives were offered 
up — sweet sacrifices to their country. On the 
march, the column to which our Quaker soldiers 
were attached, passed over Bull Eun's storied 
ground. 

" 14th. Fell m, and marched to Rappahan- 
nock Station; we then rested till daylight. At 
six o'clock we started and marched back to Mount 
Holly Church, near Kelley's Ford, on the very 
road we had come over the day before ; met Jack 



^i THE QUAKER SOLDIERS'. 

there, and as we lav close together, I spent the 
day with him. Started at sundown, and marched 
all night, till seven in the morning, when we halted 
at Catlett's Station ; marching thence till we got to 
Rappahannock Station, over the same road which 
we had passed twice before. 

15th Halted at Catlett's Station, a dis- 
tance of eighteen miles ; lay there till two o'clock, 
when we marched to Manassas Junction, a distance 
of eleven miles ; making, in all we marched, thirty 
miles in about twenty-four hours. Here we en- 
camped for the night, or rather bivouacked. 

16th. Lay still until the afternoon, when 

we moved half a mile, and pitched our tents. A 
day of rest put us in order for another march. 

17th. Started about ten o'clock, and 

marched about two miles, when we halted at Bull 
Run Creek, (below the bridge of the raikoad, 
said to have been built by Beauregard, to take 
supplies to Centreville.) The bridge above the 
railroad was the scene of the chief fighting in '61. 
The trees are here marked occasionally by bullets 
and cannon balls. The valley, that the stream 
runs through, is one of the most beautiful I ever 
saw. The trees gi'ow almost as luxuriously as in 
the tropics. One old fellow branches out into ten 
distinct limbs, a few feet above the ground ; any 
one of the ten might pass for a respectable tree. I, 
as well as haK the army here, took a good bath ; we 
rested, and dined under the shade of those old 
trees, as large as giants ; a cool breeze was blow- 



TPIE QUAKER SOLDIEES. 65 

ing at the time. It was hard to think that this 
beautiful valley was an historic one, because of 
the stream that runs through it once having been 
red with human blood. It is but a few days less 
than two years, since the battle of Bull Eun was 
fought ; and now, if I did not know it, I could 
pass through without seeing any thing to teU that 
it had ever been else than as peaceful as now. 
We crossed BuU Eun at Blackburn's Ford. 

18th. Eested, and looked about us. Cen- 

treville is, or was, a nice httle village of a dozen 
houses ; it stands on a hill, and the country around 
reminds me of Chestnut Eidge, Dutchess Co. 

19th. Packed about ten o'clock, and start- 
ed on the road towards Leesburg. We guarded 
the train of the 3d Corps. I had command of the 
company, and posted one man with every wagon, 
till the men were used up. We passed through a 
nice country, pretty well wooded. There Avas good 
evidence that troops had passed through ; though 
the country had not been much disturbed. 

20th. Lay still aU day, near a house 

owned by a Delaware County man, who OTvais quite 
a nice place, and who fed us hungry Yankees ia 
squads of fifteen or twenty ; so much a head ; a 
crowd of impatient men reaching back quite a 
distance. We are now at Gum Springs, about 
ten miles northeast from CentreA-ille." 



QQ TilE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

CHAPTER IX. 

JOHN IN SERVICE. 

From Falmoutli our arni}^ moved on tlie march 
to intercept General Lee, the rebel commander- 
in-chief. At this time, the two brothers were 
serving in neighboring regiments, and their letters 
to the mother at home speak often of their mutual 
hopes and occasional meetings. Previous to 
marching, and while yet encamped near Fal- 
mouth, their head-quarters were separated only 
by the distance of liaK-a-mile ; and the younger 
officer, in his cavalry camp, became soon mitiated 
into the "ways and means" of a soldier in the 
field. One of John's earliest letters, after entering 
service, depicts his new surroundings, and displays 
the same high tone of feeling that is marked 
in Edward's writing. This epistle is dated : 

" Camp near Falmouth, March 15th, 1863. 
"Dear Mother 

" I enclose this little scrap in Ed's letter. I r 
found, to my surprise, when we arrived here, that 
Ed had been over here at our camp, looking for 
me. The two camps are next each other ; about 
one-and-a-half miles apart. Ed is living hero, 
as comfortably as most people do at home, with 
table, desk, arm-cha'r, bed, etc. ; a smart boy to 



THE QUAKER SOLDI li:RS. 07 

wait on him, and cook for him ; a commissary 
within a few steps of his tent. Our place is im- 
proved some now ; we have a nice fire-place built 
like a three-sided cob-house, and plastered with 
mud, a mortar bed of which we have convenient. 
We are camped in a beautiful piece of wood, " i. e." 
it was, before it was made for a camp ; but con- 
siderably chewed up now. A road runs before 
our company street ; the mud is just even with the 
tops of your boots when you step in it ; six mules 
have to look sharp to get along with a light load ; 
and on either side of the road the soil is as nice 
and dry as the " long pond" woods m summer. 
There is no discount on Virginia mud ; it takes 
about a pint of water and a little mixing, to make 
a cart load of it, about like grafting wax. It is grand 
soil here ; not a stone to be found in miles ; very 
little swamp ; nice hills and valleys ; but all 
covered with pine forest ; some splendid white- 
wood. This is bound to be a fine country yet ; a 
splendid farming country, I have no doubt, very 
different from the bank of the Potomac west of 
Washington. We left Nehe (Captain Mann) in 
Washington, sick with measles. I have not heard 
from him since ; but suppose he is all right, as he 
was getting better fast when I left him with a 
fi-iend of ours, who told me afterwards, that he 
took him to Col. Nick Schrams. He probably in- 
tends to stay till he is all right. I can hardly 
realize yet that I am with the grand army ; it is 
like Yankee Doodle, who could not see the town, 



G8 the QUAKER SOLHIERS* 

there were so many houses. Get up on a hill, 
though, and you see cities and towns and villages 
of white tents on every hill-side. The army, I 
should suppose, covers an area of fifty square miles, 
so we cannot see much of it. I saw the flag 
at general head-quarters, opposite Fredericksburg, 
the other night, in a splendid sunset, from where I 
stood ; the sun set just behind the flag ; somehow 
I was reminded of Whittier's lines — 

"We wait, beneath the furnace blast, 
The pangs of transformation ; 
Not painlessl}' does God recast, 



although by what I could not tell, unless by 
the lurid color of the sky, the black clouds, and 
the old banner sailing so bravely on their back- 
ground. 

Good night, Mother ; take good care of thj^self, 
and be of good cheer. Aunt Sarah wrote me, 
thee bears thy grief, as I knew thee would, and 
does not sink down under it, as others, who did 
not know thee as well as I do, thought thee would. 
Keep good courage while the good fight lasts, and 
I pray God to help thee, and to make me equal 
to the work before me. Good night. Edward 
wants to talk with me ; he says I am pretty good- 
looking, but he gets tired of looking at me ; says 
I can write more in my own tent. 

Love to all, 

John." 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 69 



CHAPTEK X. 

A GALLANT KINSMAN. 

Feom that peaceful Ulster County village wliicli 
gave our Quaker soldiers to the nation's cause, 
another noble volunteer went forth to fight his 
country's battles. This was Nehemiah Hallock 
Mann, a cousin of the two lieutenants, who entered 
the army from their neighborhood, and impelled by 
the same motives of patriotism that inspired the 
brothers. He became a captain of cavalry, serv- 
ing under that daring leader, Kilpatpjck, and was 
wounded dangerously in the battle of Aldie, 
in wdiich fight the young cavalry general was for a 
brief space a prisoner in rebel hands. Mention is 
first made of Capt. Mann by EdAvard Ketcham, in 
a letter dated " Gum Springs," June 23d, 1863. 

" We are still at this place ; I think we shall 
probably stay a day or two ; I have not yet heard 
from John since the- fighting on the 17th ; but his 
regiment was engaged. There was more fighting 
on the day before yesterday. I have not yet heard 
if his regiment was in it. I know well, if he was, 
he did his duty, and hope he is all right. I tried 
mighty hard to get a paper yesterday ; but coukl 
not ; so, Avithout knowing, I hope for tlie best, — 
which is certainly the best way. I expect Milton 



?0 TiiE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

is now dressed in its garments of purple and green, 
the dress it wears in June • and among its green 
leaves and bright flowers, the young almost forget 
that, down here in Old Virginia, men are march- 
ing and fighting and dying, and thinking of home 
and friends. But there are few that can think of 
the war Avithout thinking of some friend tramping 
through the valleys and over the hills of old Vir- 
ginia. Pshaw ! we don't need pity ; I am talking 
nonsense. It is only the young and strong at 
home, who feel that this fight needs their help, 
while circumstances they cannot control keep 
them away, that are deserving of pity !" 

Here the letter breaks suddenly, and a post- 
script is added : 

" I have just seen Captain Mann, on his way to 
Washington. He was wounded very seriously in 
the day before yesterday's fight. Jack was not 
hurt in either fight. The mail is just going. 
Thy son, 

Edward H. Ketcham." 

The above extract is the last of Ed^vard's letters 
to his mother which has come into our possession. 
On the day upon which it w^as dated, his brother 
likewise wrote a letter home, wherein he gives 
the details of his cousin " Nehe's" gallantry in the 
action that nearly cost him his life. Lieutenant 
John Ketcham belonged to the same regiment 
with Cajitain Mann, and the two cousins were 
closely attached to each other. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 71 

*' Gum SpmnCxS, June 23d, 1863. 

'* Dear Mother : 

" I liave just seen Nelie, Captain Mann, off to 
Washington Hospital. I suppose, before this 
reaches thee, thee will have heard of the affair ; 
for I telegraphed to Sarah, his sister, to join him 
there. He was charging, at the head of the reg- 
iment, just this side of Upperville, near the en- 
trance of Ashby's Gap. After being driven back, 
the Captain called for the boys to follow him, and 
went hi ahead himself. Tlie boys followed, but 
not close enough to prevent his being engaged with 
about a dozen at him at once, he says. One fellow 
gave him a cut on his cheek, which knocked him 
from his horse ; then, as he lay helpless on the 
ground, another shot him ; the ball entering near 
the point of the left shoulder, and, cutting under 
the ribs, lodged in the muscles of the left breast. 
The doctors think he may recover ; but I don't 
think it worth while to deny that his wounds are 
dangerous. He had just come out with the reg- 
iment, for the first time ; having been in charge of 
a large dismounted camp. The night before the 
day of battle, his company were in high glee at 
his arrival. On the morning of the fight, I think 
he looked finer than I ever saAV him — without ex- 
ception, the finest soldier I have seen, with none of 
the brutahty so common in the military character. 
I would give more for Captain Mann, command- 
ing a brigade, than any general I have seen— 



72 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

except, perhaps, KiLLrATRiCK, Avho frequently 
charges with the boys of our regmient. I have 
no doubt Captain Mann Avould connnand a brigade 
of cavahy, with the science he learned as an or- 
derly, wdth as much ease and grace as if he had 
been accustomed to it for a lifetime. He was in 
command of a squadron that morning, and when 
we were ordered to charge a blockaded bridge, 
which a rebel colonel we captured told us they 
expected to hold all day, and the regiment stopped, 
under the fire of cannon and shariishooters, be- 
hind walls and trees, horses and men dropping, 
and bullets whistling around — Captain Mann sat 
calmly on his horse, knowing the enemy were sing- 
ling him out, until he got orders to dismount his 
squadron and clear the bridge, with the carbine. 
Then he took a carbine, and led the men over the 
bridge in three minutes. Such men as John 
Paul Jones and Ethan Allen were made of the 
same stuff as he. His charge released Gen Kill- 
PATRICK, who Avas taken prisoner through the fault 
of two regular regiments of cayalry. Three pla- 
toons of our squadron, Nehe's, Captain Hall's, 
and mine, were sent out in an open field, of fifty 
acres or so, facing a wood, in front of Upperville. 
We deployed as skirmishers, over half a mile, per- 
haps, and advanced towards the woods. When 
near tliere, a column of rebels charged on our 
centre, driving in the skirmishers — the single 
column followed by column in squadron front. Our 
forces advanced, the two regiments, and the rebels^ 



THE QUxVKER SOLDIERS. 73 

went back in the woods. When near the woods 
the regulars commenced charging across, in front 
of the woods ; the rebs came out, formed, facing 
the flank. General Killpatrick rode towards the 
line, and tried to turn the regulars in that direc- 
tion ; but on they went, pell mell, until they 
all got by them — the rebs after them — and took 
Killpatrick. Keep hope and courage, mother, 
and all Nehe's dear friends. His voice will soon 
be heard where it is needed — on the field of battle. 
Be of good cheer, high hope, and courage always. 

Lovingly, 

JOHNc" 



'^'i THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

CHAPTER XI. 

GETTYSBUllG. 

From the radiance of crimson snnsets we drink 
assurance of golden morrows. So, dwelling npou 
tlie battle-glories of America, I recognize in their 
bright reflex the promise of lofty destiny. Great 
deeds are prophecies as well as achievements. 

Thus, in recalling heroic examples, we ascend, it 
seems, some breezy height, whereh-om Ave look out 
clearly to a future of kindred heroism. Going 
back to that day of April, when the blood of llevo- 
lutionary Massachusetts Avas sprinkled over her 
primroses, in fields about Lexington and Concord, 
I gaze forward to that other day of April, when 
blood of Massachusetts moistened the streets of 
Baltimore. The YorktoAvn of our first struggle 
presaged the Yorktown of our second one. The 
cannon of Sullivan Island, in 1776, gave voice to a 
principle that w^as to be thundered from multitu- 
dinous cannon-throats eighty-eight years there- 
after. Moultrie and Marion uttered the first pro- 
test against Despotism in the Carolinas ; and that 
protest, never resting, must needs recoil upon 
Slavery in the Carolinas. Virginia blazoned upon 
her shield the judgment of tyranny ; and that 
judgment became her own most righteous con-? 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. Y^ 

demnation in tlie last great struggle for Freedom, 
Therefore it is, tliat the grand epochs of our 
national story are Hke the columns that were 
reared upon the route of an ancient army, in- 
scribed with the names of its leaders and the ex- 
ploits of its arms. They survive, not only as 
records of victory, but as guide-marks of follow- 
ing marches. The shaft that our present gener- 
ation erected upon Bunker Hill is not the real 
pillar of guidance to coming democracies; it is 
but a material land-mark. There is a higher 
column, built of the deeds and crowned mth the 
hopes of Bunker Hill, which becomes the true 
beacon of future repubhcanism. To this shaft, 
and to hke monuments, wherever they arise, the 
eyes of watchful and waiting patriots in every 
land look out from the shadows that oppress them. 
To these yearning souls, our Kepubhc's march is 
fr-aught with solemn significance. To them our 
memorials of Liberty have deeper import than to 
us. They crouch in the darkness, while we stride 
out under the hght. They behold our nation's 
progress, through all the yeai-s, as a captive dis- 
cerns, beyond his dungeon-bars, the procession of 
a conqueror, ascending broad causeways and out- 
spreadmg upon hmitless plams, "terrible as an 
army with banners." Thus evermore, to the wait- 
ing and weeping peoples, our American Kepubhc 
presents a spectacle sublime and inspiring. 

Thus the battles and conflicts of our Past were 
but initials of a national lesson ; the opening- 



Y6 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

blows of j)ioiieers, blasting a path for us. One 
victory over wrong gives earnest of greater vic- 
tories that are to come, and must come, though 
many interposing defeats shall retard their ad- 
vent. God's purposes cannot retrogress. Once 
declared, they become immortal, hke theu^ Au- 
thor, and eternal, like His power. A good cause 
can await its day of triumph. 

Infidels to the faith of humanity are those who 
distrust the future of free principles. Such men 
shook their heads oftentimes during our conflict 
with Eebelhon. Such men doubt Omnipotence. 

But DOUBT never entered into the minds of our 
loyal Quaker soldiers, whose gallant service is 
modestly recited in their own simple letters to 
a worthy parent. That portion which records the 
thoughts and feelings of Edward Ketcham is 
finished. His mission was earliest accomplished, 
by a brave death uj^on the field of Gettysbueg ; 
and we turn to the letters of his surviving brother 
for an affecting account of the cii'cumstances. 

The story of Gettysburg, in all its details, will 
be a lasting memorial of courage and devotion. 
That battle was the turning-point of our national 
fortunes. The deeds of our officers and the glori- 
ous rank and file Avho supported them will live in 
the history of our Republic, and tlieir results en- 
dure as the heritage of a restored Union. The 
names of Gettysburg's heroes and martyi's — an 
illustrious roll of patriots — will be inscribed on 
monuments ; their stories will enlist the pen of 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 77 

future chroniclers; tlieir examples wiU inspire the 
hearts of our citizens. And among them aU the 
names of our "Fighting Quakers" wHl claim ap- 
propriate honor. 

The following letter is from John Ketcham de- 
scribmg his brother's death : 

"Frederick City, July 8th, 1863. 
" Dear Mother ; 

I telegraphed to thee as soon as I could and 
wi^ote about Edward. I cannot realize that he is 
dead. Don't let it kill thee, mother ! Thee and 
I are all that is left of us. Edward was the first 
man killed m the regiment. Thej were lying on 
the ground, behind a httle hill, in front of our bat- 
teries, makmg a part of the outer line of battle. 
It IS always necessary in such times for some one 
to keep a lookout, to watch the movements of the 
enemy. As the men all lay on their faces, Edward 
was sitting up to look; a sharpshooter's bullet 
probably struck him in the temple, and went 
through his head. He put up his hand, and said : 
Uh ! and fell on his elbow, quite dead. There 
was heavy fighting on the ground soon after and 
our forces had possession of tlie field for a short 
time. Ed's body was carried back a couple of 
hundred yards, and left under a tree. I heard of 
It the next morning, and went to the regiment 
and got a man to go with me, who lielped to carry 
him off; he sliowed me where he lay. It 



was 



78 THE QUAKEE SOLDIERS. 

outside of our breastworks forty or fifty yards, 
and a couple of hundred beyond our outer line of 
sliarpslioofcars. I went out to them, but could not 
get beyond ; for a bullet would whistle by, the 
moment a man showed himself. I lay down 
behind a big rock. The body of Green Carle, of 
the 120th, lay there, horribly mutilated. They 
said he had lived two or three hours after he was 
struck. Whilst I lay there, two rebel batteries 
commenced to play on ours. I never imagined 
such a thunder as the firing made ; there were 
twenty-four cannon at work, and the shells burst 
over our heads, fifty feet or more ; one or two 
men were hurt near me, and the limbs of the trees 
dropped occasionally. I then took a musket, 
thinking I would stay with the infantry, till they 
advanced, as I was not needed with the depart- 
ment, it being with the mule train ; the rest of 
our regiment was at Washington. Pretty soon 
the rebels came out from their works, iu heavy 
force, and alvancel in line. Our batterie? com- 
menced to moAv them down, and the men lay 
down until in close range ; then the outer line 
raised up, and the two lines fought, without either 
moving from their place. It was a grand, but 
terrible sight ! The rebels concentrated on one 
part of our hue, and pressed it back, to charge 
our breastworks ; our flanks closed in on them, 
and hundreds were driven in, prisoners, while the 
rest ran back to their lines like sheep. One poor 
fellow came in just by me ; the first words he said 



THE QUAKER SOLDIEJRS, 19 

were, " Gentlemen, I do this because I am forced 
to." He was a pleaiant, harmless-looking fellow, 
as are one half of them ; the other half look like 
wild beasts. At this time, the 120th came up, and 
I went with them. I went out at night, to look 
for Edward, but could not find him. The next 
morning our line advanced, and I went out to the 
tree ; and there, on his back, his hands peacefully 
on his breast, lay all that was left of the brother 
I have lived so closely with, all my life. When I 
had been separated from him a few weeks, I have 
known when I met him, how closely I was knit to 
him. On this earth I will never meet him again ! 
His features, though discolored and swollen, had 
an expression I have seen on them before — peace- 
ful rest. He had lain thirty-six hours on the field, 
with the roaring of cannon and bursting of shells 
over him, and the feet of contending hosts, of dark- 
ness and freedom, trampling the ground he lay on. 
Wiien I got him, I brought him in through the 
batteries, and laid him down under a tree. A 
Captain of one of the batteries said to me, " If he 
were' a brother of mine, I would bury him on the 
field of his glory." He was very kind, and sent 
me men to dig the grave. In a little grove behind 
the batteries, under an oak tree, in his soldier's 
uniform, wrapped in a shelter-tent, Hes all the 
earthly remains of my brother ; "he has gone to be 
a soldier in the army of the Lord." And mother, 
thee and I walk this world of sorrow. I set for 
his head-stone a piece of a young oak, cut off by 



go THE QUAKEk SOLDlKIiS* 

a rebel shell, and marked his name and regiment. 
Mother, yet a little time thee and I have to walk 
this earth, when we compare it to the great eter- 
nity beyond, where father and EdAvard are gone 
before us. 

Oh, he was cut down in the very morning of 
his manhood ! He is laid a sacrifice on the altar 
of Liberty ! 

He died to give to every other man the right to 
his own manhood — a precious sacrifice — for in him 
were heroism, a brave heart, and an iron will. He 
died, as he would have died — with his face toward 
the enemies of freedom, on the battle-field. Ed- 
w^ard has marched many a weary mile ; he has 
lain on the wet, cold ground, with nothing over 
him, long nights, with the rain pouring on him, 
and never murmured ; he has lain and shivered 
in the snow and slush, all long Avinter nights, 
after weary marches, hungry, perhaps, or after 
eating a few hard crackers, and a little raw meat ; 
and, in his discomfort, he has never wished for 
home ; except, perhaps, to look forward to that 
bright day when the rebellion should be crushed, 
and he should return home, war-worn, and covered 
with his well worn honors. That day, alas ! he 
can never see. Oh, God ! Thy price for freedom 

is a DEAR ONE ! 

John." 



TliE QUAKER S0LDTEE6. 81 



CHAPTER XII. 

INFLUENCE OF PATEIOTISM. 

Thus " marching on," the two heutenants drew, 
one by one, to the holy altar of sacrifice. Each 
was a portion of that "grand army" of loyal souls 
whose bodies were destined to sink by the way- 
side ; but whose luminous examjDles are to light 
the path for innumerable armies in the great 
future. Both, were to be called from their brief 
career to an enrollment in those immortal ranks 
whereof all champions and saviours of humanity 
111 the Past are the advanced guard, and to which 
have been transferred from gory graves such multi- 
tudes of heroes in the Present. 

AH the inspii^ation that history or tradition can 
give, is reserved for the warriors of Ereedom. 
Monarchs and conquerors of old may be rever- 
enced by their descendants or their imitators ; but 
the people have no sympathy for them ; the peo- 
ple surround not their altars. It is the Tell 
of Switzerland, the Wallace of Scotland, the 
Washington of America, the Garibaldi of Italy, 
that lay hold of the popular heart with grapnels of 
love and authority. Liberty is rich in her jewels, 
of heroes who lived and of martyrs who perished 
fcr her. Scaffold and block have been consecra- 



fe^ 



THE QUAKER SOLDII:Rg. 



ted by tlie blood of lier confessor^ and cliampions. 
The South is full of lowly graves, where the dust 
of those who died for freedom and equahty shall 
bloom forever, with priceless balm^ that will some 
day bear " healing for the nation." 

But the defender of an unjust cause can leave 
no memory. For the dead traitor there is no re- 
surrection in the hearts of his countrymen. Cou- 
rage may have distinguished him ; endurance, 
even in the wrongs may have marked him ; a war- 
rior's death may have expiated his errors ; but 
there is no sweet savor of patriotism to embalm 
him ; and the immortality of Liberty's children 
can never — oh, never^— be his ! It is mercy to his 
name that it perishes fi'om remembrance, and a 
boon to his posterity that no stone records it. 

There was an old man of Gettysburg, whose 
musket was shouldered in the war of 1812 ; w^hose 
head v/as white with the snows of seventy years ; 
and when he saw the base flag of Disunion blot- 
ting the sunshme of his cottage door, he took 
down an old State musket fi'om the wall, moulded 
a score of bullets, as in the times of old, and made 
ready to defend his homestead. Anon came the 
Stars and Stripes through Cumberland Yalley, 
and the gray-haired veteran presented himseK to 
our soldiers. 

" Take me with you," says the man of seventy 
years. " I can still peer over a rifle-sight." 

And they took him with them — those brave 
Wisconsin boys to wliom he showed himself ; and 



ntE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



83 



that true-Iieartecl old soldier fought in tlie ranks 
at Gettysburg, and was left, with three wounds^ 
upon the field, within sight, almost, of his hearth-' 
stone. God be thanked that the ancient hero 
survived our dread conflict, and that he dwells 
m peace at this day in his cottage bj the battle- 
ground of Gettysburg. Worthy to hear the name 
of BuENs— the name of a fi^ee-souled poet— was 
this old fighter for the Kepubhc. Poor though 
this brave John Burns may be, he wiU bequeath 
to his children a heritage of honor that no Lee 
nor Beauregard, with all their chivahy, have now 
in theii- bestowal. 

In the days to come, our heroes of rank and file 
will be held in tradition as we now hold the 
" Liberty Boys," and the men of " Marion the 
Swamp Fox." Ballads will chronicle their fights 
^^ hand-to-hand," and their "hair-breadth 'scapes 
i' the imminent deadly breach" of siege and 
sortie. It is of their example that our future 
nation will eat and drmk, to become robust in 
patriotism. " God keep their memory gi-een ! 

There is alwavs an influence of good emanating 
from the lives and deaths of our soldier-patriots. 
" A man in fighting for liberty somehow fights his 
way to goodness," said Edward Ketcham. If he 
earnestly feels his share in such a fight, it enno- 
bles him, I think. If he survives, it will be to exert 
a power for good on others. If he dies, his brave 
example will not die. It cannot die. It is immor- 
tal. 



84 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

So, in the record of our war for Union and Free- 
dom, its incidents of personal valor and devotion, 
that are cherished permanently, will be as lessons 
of patriotism to the generations that shall follow 
our own. Soldiers, in future days, will remember 
that bold Sergeant Bruner, of the Twenty-third 
Wisconsin volunteers, in the fight at Port Gibson, 
where he caught the colors from their disabled 
bearer, and planted them on the ramparts, amid 
a storm of bullets. And again, at Champion Hill, 
where lie seized the flag, as our line was breaking, 
and, cr}mg out — " Boys, follow ! Don't flinch from 
your duty !" led the regiment into order and vic- 
to]'y. And once more, at the battle of Big Black, 
under the eye of Grant, when the vaHant Sergeant 
led his men against a battery which had dismount- 
ed one of our cannon and dispersed its support- 
ers, — twice in the melee was bold Bruner made 
a prisoner by the foe, and twice his comrades res- 
cued him. And he brought to Gen. Grant the 
last one of three rebel flags captured by his own 
hand fi'om the enemy. It is m the hearts of such 
men as this that the idea of a cause is enshrined, 
like a jewel in its golden casket. 

And that old man-of-war's man, William Eeid, 
in his fiftieth year, one of the noble sailors whose 
bravery almost redeemed the treachery of their 
flag-captain at Galveston ; I can see him, in my 
mind's eye, as he stood on the Owasco's deck, with 
his left hand well nigh shot away, and a shot- 
wound in his shoulder, where the blood oozed 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 85 

tlirougli his sliirt, while, holding still a rifle in his 
grasp, he fired upon the enemy. " Go below, and 
get your wounds dressed," said the master's mate. 
" No, sir," the veteran cried ; "so long as there is 
fighting to be done, I'll stay on deck!" 

What patient courage — what noble self-devo- 
tion — is common to the sailor at his gun and the 
soldier in his ranks ; so common, indeed, that no 
note is made of it ; so habitual, that it is looked 
upon but as the mere routine of duty. Assured- 
ly, there is a motive-power deeper than mere rou- 
tine to inspire these unrecorded heroes of our 
nation. Was there not true nobility in that com- 
mon seaman, SxIMUEL Woods, who, fightmg at his 
gun, with resolute courage, yet found heart to 
plunge into the stream, to save a shipmate who 
had been borne overboard, and then, returning, 
knelt beside his woimded comrades, nursing them 
like a tender woman, as he had fought with them, 
like a hero-man. Was there not cool and provi- 
dent valor in that cockswain of the Wabash, Ed- 
ward Ringgold, who, in service with the howitzer 
corps, performed his duty with such faithfulness, 
and, hearing that the poAvder had run low, passed 
up through all that fiery line, with his " shirt slung 
over his shoulders and filled with ammunition, 
which he had brought two miles from the rear !" 
Well did these men deserve the medal they won 
for " gallantry in action." 

The examples and influence of such as these 
will blossom over their last resting-places, however 



8G THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

lowly tliey may lie. They will always make fra- 
grant the cause of Union and Freedom. And this 
simple memorial of our Quaker soldiers, which 
goes forth to seek a household welcome wherever 
patriotism dwells ; these unpretending letters of 
two good brothers to thsir mother, may yet be 
powerful, in their sphere, to strengthen the love of 
liberty and of our native land. 

We now draw near the end, with John's last 
letters to his bereaved mother : 

*' Near Sharpsbueg, July 12th, 18G3. 
" Deae Mother, 

" I suppose thee has read either one or the other 
of my four letters, and the telegram about Edward. 
Keep heart and courage, mother ; he has only gone 
beyond us. It is a comfort to thmk, that his 
suffering was so short. He must have been con- 
scious an instant, for he spoke in his natural voice 
and said "Oh !" (not an involuntary groan) put his 
hand to his forehead and fell on his elbow dead. 
One instant of terrible pain, and the life which he 
loved, as all strong men do, faded from his sense, 
and was changed for the great Hereafter, when all 
human imperfection is changed for perfection. 
Brother ! our paths through life have run side by 
side, diverging, but to join again. Now, you have 
the better part, above the petty strifes of this life. 
All that is noble and glorious is yours, while I 
must mingle with earthly scenes, till your life 
fades into memory, and perhaps memory fades 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 87 

into shadow. Surely, God in his mercy cannot let 
the life we have lived together be no more ; but 
in the great Hereafter, the life that has been shall 
Kve again in memory, fresh as the present. Ed- 
ward ! your love for me was strong, strong for 
your younger brother, as your own great, strong, 
brave heart, and I have taken it as I do the 
sunshine, and thought to have you by me always ; 
but we are divided now. I am yet of the earth, 

while your name is on the long roll of honor 

one of those whom God has considered worthy to 
be sacrificed. You were cut down in the morning 
of manhood, strong and brave heart. You never 
flinched from danger. I know, in your great love 
for me, you will be with me if I go in danger, and 
inspire me with your spirit, that I may do my whole 
duty without flinching and without fear. In the 
morning of life, your blood has been shed for the 
right of every man to upright manhood— that the 
poor slave-mother may hold her child to her bosom 
without fear of the driver. My poor, broken, wid- 
owed mother has given her first and noblest son. 
Oh, God have mercy on her ! Thou, " who doest 
all things well." Your body rests on the field of 
glory. Your name is on that roll of the noble 
dead to which posterity must bow down, and thank 
in reverence. 

Napoleon told his soldiers, at the Pyramids, 
Centuries look down fi-om the tops of these Pyi-a- 
mids. Forty centuries look down upon you ! Yes ! 
but, from the mountain over your head, the thun- 



gg TfiE QUAKER SOLDlEtiS. 

der of our cannon, liuiiing death to tlie rebels 
before you — from the top of that mountain, over- 
lookmg the field of Gettysburg — our great free 
nation, (yet to be,) looked down and saw you 
when you fell, and will hold your name in grateful 
honor, for all time to come ! — better than the 
golden letter Napoleon wrote to immortalize his 
victims. You are one of the noblest dead who 
died for Freedom, and the feet of fi-eemen shall 
tread the soil you fell on, for all time to come. A 
little mound, on the battle-field, covers all that 
is left of my brother, a noble fellow as ever drew 
the breath of life. As Christ " died to make men 
holy," he has " died to make men free." Have 
his picture, in his soldier's uniform, copied like 
thine and father's, and, under the glass, fold his 
commission and the ragged shoulder-strap I cut 
from him ; hang under it his broken sword, and 
write : 

*' A SOLDIER IN THE ARMY OF THE LORD." 

Now, I pray the battle soon to be fought may 
be decisive, and that I may return to be a little 

comfort to thee. 

John." 

And so the elder died. And the younger was 
spared but a httle longer, to write li^s last loving 
words to the poor, bereaved mother, and to pay 
a manly tribute to his gallant comrades of our 
army. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. S9 

" Harper's Ferry, July IStli, 1863. 
"Dear Mother, 

*' I have heard nothing from thee since Edward's 
death, until two days ago. I had a letter from 
Nelie, and then, July 8th, you had heard he was 
wounded. I do not know hardly whether to sup- 
pose thee is alive or not. My comfort is, that 
Edward died as becomes a man, his face towards 
the enemies of freedom. I know that, though he 
loved his life as dearly as any man, yet, had he 
foreseen the result when he first thought of going 
to the war, it would not have made a particle of 
difference with him ; but he would have walked to 
certain death without flinching. I can do or say 
nothing to comfort my poor stricken mother. In 
thy boundless love for thy children, thy bereave- 
ment is more than mine, lonely and sad as I am, 
" wretch even now, life's journey just begun." 

Harper's Ferry! How much, since the great 
page of this people's life-history was opened, is 
here. That long old row of blackened waUs was 
the Arsenal, from which John Brown thundered 
out the challenge , to a life and death struggle. 
Eetribution visited upon the oppressor ; sacrifice of 
the best and noblest to atone for our w^rongs upon 
the helpless ; lines of earthworks, overlooking 
Maryland heights ; white tents, houses battered 
by shot and shell into heaps of ruins, in the field 
where I am sitting; pontoons across the river; 
and the old battered and worn-out army, thinned 
out to one-foiu'th of the men who first buckled on 



90 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

tlie knapsack, crossing again into Virginia, to 
grapple with its old enemy, to lay the bones of its 
best and bravest before the breastworks and rifle- 
pits of the yet formidable rebels ! — all the long 
story of weary suffering, and the woe of five hun- 
dred battles ! and here we stand as evenly-matched 
as ever, and they on chosen ground, as ever. I 
don't overlook the great blows struck by Giiant 
at Vicksburg, and perhaps others, before this, at 
Charleston, which lead to the hope, almost, that 
the great price is nearly paid, and the work 
nearly done. I wrote thee I would resign if events 
occurred that showed the war nearly over ; but 
surely thee would not have me back out from this 
glorious struggle, while the chances hang in the 
balance. Go home! and leave these w^eary war- 
worn men to fight for blessings I should enjoy ? 
these weary men, who have fought and sufi'erad 
so hard and long, addicted to every vice, almost, 
individually, but cowardice or meanness. I have 
seen them struggle, through mud and rain, after f 
the defeat at Chancellorville, back to the cheerless 
ruins of their old camps. I have seen them mak- 
ing long and weary marches along the dusty road, 
to foil the advance of Lee across the-Kapj)ahanock, 
then, forced marches to Manasses, all day long 
without water ; then, I have seen long columns 
pushing forward, with tireless energy, to meet the 
enemy at Gettysburg ; then, marching, day and 
night, to cut ofif the retreating foe, and now coming 
here, to this old historic spot, down again into the 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



91 



dark vaUej and shadow of death, never halting oi 
murmuring, ever ready to lay down their lives, as 
their comrades have done. I have heard them 
groaning in agony, wounded, jolted over rough 
road, or carried by their comrades, or lying on the 
battlefield, between the lines, beggmg to be taken 
out of more danger. I have seen mangled and 
torn masses knocked out of the shape of men. I 
have seen ragged uniforms of United States sol- 
diers, bursting fi-om the black and swoUen bodies 
as they lay in ditches by the road side, rotting in 
the sun. "Blessed are they that endure to the 
end." I am no such soldier as my brother was; 
but I trust I have manhood enough to stand 
with this army of the Lord until its victory is sure. 
I entered the vineyard but at the eleventh hour. 
I can, perhaps, do but httle, but, while the result 
hangs in the balance, I know, in thy heart of 
hearts, thee is glad that I am one of this army, 
and where is heard the tramp of their marching- 
feet, there am I. I am glad to hear, from thy 
letter, that cousins V. Hallock and T. Sherman 
have gone for Edward's body. I know it would 
have been his wish ; it is but a small satisfaction, 
but I could not have done even that. Bear up a 
little longer, my poor bereaved mother. 
Thy only son, 

John." 



92 THE QUAKER SOLPlERg. 



CHAPTEE XIII. 

^ THE PRISONER OF WAR.' 

After the death of his brother, John Ketcham 
continued in service, attached to his regiment, the 
Fourth New York Cavahy. His letter, closing 
the last chapter, portrays the high principle which 
prompted him to this course, although every 
feeling of affection called him to the home where 
a widowed mother sat weeping for her first-born. 
Edward Ketcham had been deemed the stronger- 
souled and self-reliant brother ; but in the bosom 
of John a sense of duty was as inflexible and pow- 
erful. He felt himself constrained to keep the 
post which he had taken. His brother had fallen 
in the defence of his country. It was not for him 
to turn back from the glorious example set by 
that devoted brother. He loved his mother ; but 
he loved Liberty likewise ; and Liberty had sum- 
moned him to her banners. In good time he 
hoped, under the mercy of God, to return and 
comfort the bereaved one ; but " where the tramp 
of our army's marching feet" was heard, there he 
elected to be, until the triumph of that army 
should no longer " hang in the balance." 

But the hope of being a " comfort to his mother" 
was never to be realized by our young soldier. 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



9.^ 



The fatigues of incessant marcliing- the exposure 
to aU vicissitudes of season ; the constant recollec- 
tion of his lost brother, with whose existence his 
own had been entwined, were slowly undermining 
the manly strength and gaUant spirit which he 
brought to the service of his country. Day bv 
day he grew less able to endure the exposure''^, 
' inseparable from duty during an active campai-n 
and at length, in the latter part of July he re' 
luctantly reported for the sick hst, and was sent 
to the Seminary Hospital, at Georgetown, D. C 
Here he remained four weeks, and should have 
rested longer. Here he was nursed tenderly by 
his mother, who had hastened from her home to 
attend him ; and here he parted from her em- 
braces, never to return to them in life. Sad was 
the separation ; ominous the farewell. The afflicted 
mother returned to her lonely cottage ; the son 
already marked for sacrifice, rejoined his regiment 
at the front. 

Three weeks afterwards, in an engagement with 
superior numbers. Lieutenant John Ketcham 
was captured by the enemy, and carried to the 
rebel capital, a prisoner-of-war. He was in no 
condition to report for duty when he left the hos- 
pital; but his anxiety to do so im^^ai-ted temporary 
strength which was unequal to the constant hard- 
ships borne by oui- cavalry at that period. When 
to these hardships succeeded the rigors of rebel 
captivity, it might have been easy to foretell the 
consequences. Lieutenant Ketcham was to add 



Si THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

one more to tlie thousands of Union soldiers 
whose souls fled from their tortured frames in the 
dismal prisons of the South. His spirit was to 
mingle with that host of martyrs, whose lives were 
not forfeited in battle, but by the slow torments of 
disease and famine. 

The records of our grand struggle for Union and 
Freedom — so rich with the action and achieve- 
ment of noble citizens — are not complete without 
those dismal pages that chronicle captivity and 
suffering. The horrors of Southern stockades and 
dungeons, in which our noble soldiers, held as war- 
]3risoners, were treated as malefactors, must fill up 
the dark background of the picture that delineates 
a nation's triumph. History will have more to 
dwell upon than battles and marches ; more vio- 
lence to deplore than the bombardment of forts 
and the sack of cities ; more cruel deeds to narrate 
than the slaughter of armed men in buttle, or the 
firing of homes in a ravaging expedition. 

For, in our terrible strife, we were contending 
with a power more inhuman and sanguinary than 
that of mere war — fierce and unscrupulous as war 
always is. We had pitted against us a demoniac 
spirit which has been known in all ages as Op- 
pression : that spirit which manifests itself in the 
form of human slavery, and which is so brutaliz- 
ing in its influence that it can change a woman 
into a fiend, and a child into an imp of cruelty. 

By the hardening contact of this spirit of Op- 
pression or Slavery, the natures of a large portion 



THE QUAKKE SOLDIERS. 



95 



of our adversaries had been already indurated 
against tender sympatliies, when the blast of in- 
testine strife added intensity to their hate and 
tury to tlieir passions. The wretched negro, so 
long a footstool for pride, became at last the in- 
strument of its puuisliment. Treason and Kebel- 
hon had conspired to build a new temple to Mo- 
loch whose walls were to be cemented by the 
Wood of a free nation, and whose corner-stone 
was to be Human Slavery ! Such were the cal- 
culations of the men who precipitated Secession, 
inspired by the arrogance which sprang from 
ownership in a sei-vile race. But the Most Hi.* 
hadordanied that their schemes should be con- 
founded through the very means which thev chose 
to accomplish them. To consolidate Slavery, 
they had invoked War. By War the power of 
Slavery was to be overthrown, and its victims re- 
lieved from their thraldom. Only through throes 
ot violence and disruption could the new birth of 
J^reedom be secured to our Bepublic. 
_ It was a long time before even a glimpse of tho 
inevitable fate that awaited them could be ad- 
mitted to Slavery's advocates. I doubt if all have 
yet i-ecognized the doom pronounced upon their 
imholy cause To many at the South the idea of 
iiiberty itself was strangely associated with that 
of African servitude. Multitudes were ignorant 
enthusiasts in the defence of what they deemed 
their Independence. The most sacredrights of 
property were involved in their estimation with 



96 THE QUAKER SOLDlEKS. 

the claim, wliicli tliey deemed just, of ownership 
in negro labor. Other multitudes, who were des- 
titute of property in slaves, were yet champions 
of an institution which degraded the very indus- 
try whereby they sought to live. Strange anom- 
alies of motive were fused into fanatical cohesion 
with common bonds of Southern birth and cit- 
izenship. But it was the belief in Slavery that 
constituted the touchstone of Southern patriotism 
everywhere. It was property in, and superiority 
over, the negro race that formed a *' Shibboletli," 
by which the true Secessionist was always recog- 
nized. That was the stimulus to strife, the ob- 
ject of fighting, the stake of fortune. It animated 
alike the regular and the guerilla ; it prompted 
the assault on Fort Sumter," npt less than the 
massacre at Fort Pillow. It was the motive that 
lay at the core of Quantrell's outrages in Kansas, 
as well as the crimes of Winder and Wirz at An- 
dersonville. Had the spirit of Slavery been want- 
ing, our civil war would have been conducted at 
all times according to the laws of war and of na- 
tions. But Slavery interposed with its fiendish- 
ness; and the result was that book of murder 
whose livid leaves are rebel war-prisons, and 
whose letters are the epitaphs of unnumbered 
loyal victims. 

It was to the " tender mercies" of this fell spirit 
of Slaver}^ that unfortunate Unionists were con- 
signed by rebel authorities. In other lands, 
among people claiming to be civilized, and in this 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 97 

age of Christian liberaKty, a prisoner-of-war pos- 
sesses rights which are held sacred as those of 
soldiers. Once captured, and delivering up his 
arms, he is no longer considered as a belligerent, 
to be feared or maltreated, but as a military hos- 
tage, for whose safety and good treatment his 
captors are responsible to the government which 
claims his service. But, in the usage of our late 
adversaries, the claims of a prisoner-of-war were 
ignored or derided. Practically, a "Federal 
prisoner" had no rights which a'" Confederate" 
was bound to respect. Hated as a foe, abused as 
a criminal, preyed upon as spoil, and subjected to 
wanton outrage, the hapless United States soldier 
who fell into rebel hands seemed cast at once be- 
yond the pale of civiHzation. Immured in loath- 
some jails, crowded in pestiferous hospitals, packed 
m filthy stockades ; exposed to wintry cold and 
summer heat, without shelter ; abandoned to thirst 
and starvation ; robbed and stripped ; encompassed 
by foul miasms ; tortured with horrid punish- 
ments ; shot at in sport ; assassinated in malice ; 
driven to madness and suicide ; such were the 
consequences of capture to our brave soldiers and 
sailors, that the fortune of war rendered power- 
less to resist or escape. 

It was in " Libby Prison" that Lieutenant John 
Ketcham was confined; an abode of wretched- 
ness which has been graphically described by 
more than one poor inmate of its walls. 
,A three-storied stack of brick buildings, former- ' 



D8 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

h^ used as a tobacco-warehouse, and overlooking 
the Canal and James river — its rooms one hundred 
feet long by forty feet in width — this was the now 
historic Libby Prison. In six of the rooms, at 
one time, twelve hundred United States officers, 
from the rank of brigadier-general to that of 
second lieutenant, were incarcerated, and treated 
as convicts instead of soldiers. Ten feet by two 
was the average space of floor allowed each man, 
but little more than the dimensions of a grave ; 
and in this limit they were constrained to sleep, 
work, cook, eat, and exercise. 

"At one time," says a report to the Sanitary 
Commission " they were not allowed the use of 
benches, chairs, or stools, nor even to fold their 
blankets and sit upon them ; but those avIio would 
rest were obliged to huddle on their haunches, as 
one of them expresses it, ' like so many slaves on 
the middle passage.' 

" They were overrun with vermin, in sj^ite of 
every precaution and constant ablutions. Their 
blankets, which averaged one to a man, and 
sometimes less, had not been issued by the rebels, 
but had been procured in many ways ; sometimes 
by purchase, sometimes through the Sanitary 
Commission, The prisoners had to help them- 
selves from the refuse accumulation of these 
articles, which, having seen similar service before, 
were often ragged and fidl of vermin. In these 
they wrapped themselves at night, and lay down 
on the hard plank floor, in close and stifling cpU' 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 99 

tact, crammed and dovetailed together, as one of 
them testified, *' like fish in a basket." The floors 
were recklessly washed, late in the afternoon, and 
were therefore damp and dangerous to sleep upon. 
Almost every one had a cough in consequence. 
There were seventy-five windows in these rooms, 
all more or less broken, and in winter the cold 
was intense. Two stoves in a room, with two or 
three armfuls of wood to each, did not prove suf- 
ficient, under this exposure, to keep them warm." 
From the statements of prisoners, who passed 
months in this lazar-house, it appears that " the 
hideous discomfort was never lessened by any 
renovation in the cells, but often increased. The 
prison did not seem to be under any general and 
uniform army regulation, but the caj^tives were 
subject to the caprices of Major Turner, the officer 
in charge, and Eichard Turner, inspector of the 
prison. It was among the rules that no one 
should go within three feet of the windows, a rule 
which seemed to be general in all Southern prisons 
of this character, and which their frequently- 
crowded state rendered peculiarly severe and 
difficult to serve. The manner in which the 
regulation was enforced was unjustifiably and 
wantonly cruel. Often by accident, or unconsci- 
ously, an officer would go near a window, and be 
instantly shot at without warning. The reports 
of sentries' muskets were heard almost every day, 
and frequently a prisoner fell, cither killed or 
wounded." 



100 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

It was to tliis place of torture that Lieutenant 
Ketcliani, scarcely convalescent from Ids recent 
severe illness, w^as consigned by liis rebel captors. 
Thrown into one of the crowded rooms, he con- 
tracted the fever so common and so fatal to our 
soldiers. Without nourishment, without medicine, 
and debilitated in frame, he sank, day by day, 
with his miserable comrades. He suffered all 
that could be endured with life, where life itself 
was suffering. 

Starvation added its horrors to pain and expo- 
sure. An officer's daily ration was a small loaf of 
bread, about the size of a man's fist, and made of 
Indian meal. It weighed a little over half a 
pound. With it was given a piece of beef, weigh- 
ing two ounces. Speaking of the allowance, its 
kind and quality, an officer remarked, long after- 
wards — " I would gladly have preferred the horse- 
feed in my father's stable." 

But, poor and insufficient as Avas the general 
allowance, it became worse, if possible, during the 
time that Lieutenant Ketcham Avas a prisoner. 
Al)out the time of his capture, the corn-bread of 
Libby Prison, according to testimony elicited 
from prisoners, " began to be of the roughest and 
coarsest description. Portions of the cob and 
liusk were often found ground hi with the meal. 
The crust was so thick and hard that the prisoners 
called it iron-clad To render the bread eatable, 
they grated it, and made mush of it, but the crust 
they could not grate. Now and then, after long 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 101 

intervals, often of many weeks, a little meat was 
given tliem, perliaps two or three moutlifuls. At 
a later period, they received a pint of black peas 
with some vinegar, every week. The peas were 
often full of worms, or maggots in a chysalis state, 
which, when they made soup, floated on the 
surface." 

Such was the condition, such were the food and 
surroundings, of our officers in Libby Prison. Into 
the midst of the famishmg multitude John Ketch- 
am was thrust, and it was not suigular that he 
speedily succumbed to the fever. 

Three weeks, after his consignment to Libl^y 
Prison, our young lieutenant lingered amidst its 
horrors ; three weeks of bodily prostration and 
mental anguish. No loving mother was there to 
press with her gentle hand his burning forehead, 
or to administer a draught to his parched Hps. 
No voice of affection, no presence of kindred, 
solaced the dying youth ; but his faith remained 
firm in the cause of his country, and he died, at 
last, " to make men free." 

The Colonel of John's regiment' was Di Ces- 
NOLA, that gallant commander who, in the fierce 
fight of Aldie,, received as a gift the sword of 
his leader, Kilpatrick, and who, charging soon 
after, at the head of his men, fell desperately 
wounded, and was captured by the enemy. In 
Libby Prison, tliis noble officer was still confined, 
when his young subaltern was brought in a pris- 
oner. He was with him to the end of his brief 



102 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

probation, and in a letter to tlie motlicr, after all 
was over, bore testimony to tlie merits of her de- 
parted son. 

" Lieutenant Ketcliam was a brave young officer, 
and once out of * this,' I meant to promote him ; 
"'out God has promoted him to a better rank !" 

John was transferred, at the last hour, fi'om 
" Libby" to the hospital; too late to save him, even 
had a rebel hospital been the j)lace for succor. He 
survived his removal a day, and then followed his 
brother to that peace which the world knows not 
and can never give. Through the care of his col- 
onel, and other friends, his body was subsequently 
exhumed from its temporary grave, and conveyed 
to his childless mother. All that is mortal of the 
two brothers now rests in that quiet little " God's 
acre" — the Friends' Burial Ground, at Milton, in 
Ulster County, N. Y., where two white monu- 
ments, side by side, have been raised in memory 
of a mother's gifts to her country. 

It is the Eecord of these young soldiers, that 
they — performed their duty. 

Their Fame belongs to the Kepublic, in whoso 
service they died, and in whose story they will 
always live. 

Fame, of itself, and alone, is not by any means 
the " be-all and the end all" of human merit or 
endeavor. Brave aspirations and achievements 
are but the index and incentive toward higher .ind 
worthier accomplishment. The Past and the 
Present are lessons for the Future. 



TilE QUAKER s6LDIEES. 103 

Fame is nouglit to either of the two brothers 
whose story we have read. Fame is no recom- 
pense to him whose spirit has passed from the 
scenes of his trials and triumphs. Earthly im- 
mortality can be nought to one whose soul ascends 
into eternal life. It is to the future of humanity 
that lieno^\Ti belongs, as an incentive to virtue 
and a stimulus to courage. David, the shepherd- 
lad of Israel, acting upon ages by the example of 
his transmitted story, has inspired, I doubt not, 
the striplings of numberless valleys, to dare and 
conquer Goliahs of oppression. Scipio and Cato 
and either Brutus survive, through aU years, as 
illustrations of patriotism. For themselves their 
fame is as nothing ; for the world and the future 
it may be priceless. 

It is good, then, to glean in the fields of Past 
and Present, for all scattered ears of that golden 
corn which is reaped toward a mighty hereafter. 
While history garners its sheaves of chieftains and 
leaders, it lets fall, too often, the heroes of obscu- 
rity, and their brave examples perish from among 
us. It is good, then, to glean after History. 

And here let me invoke the glorified host of 
nameless men, who have fallen upon the marches 
and battle-fields of Freedom ! Here let me apos- 
trophize the unknown armies of martyrs who have 
laid down theii- lowly lives for Liberty, in every 
era and upon every soil ! 

O ! dumb and traceless shades ! O ! misty sem- 
blvinces of humanity ! receding into the dimness 



104 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

of immemorial centuries ! Ye multitudes, wliose 
weary journeyings left no footprints, and wliose 
fall awoke no eclio ! Was it your destiny to be 
barren of fruit for tlie future ? to be absorbed, as 
clouds, into tlie ocean of time, leaving no reflex 
of your transit u]3on earth or in tlie lieavens ? 

I think that my soul can recognize a sweet res- 
ponse to its invocation ; a voiceless yet intelligible 
reply, down-flowing, as from choirs of invisible 
spirits, in harmonies that interpret both Past and 
Present. I fancy that those misty darknesses 
which enshroud the heroes, and patriots, and 
martyrs, of forgotten generations, have opened, 
sometimes, into vistas of immortal glory, reveal- 
ing glimpses of the great White Throne ; and 
that, out from the overpowering splendor, unsyl- 
labled music glides into my heart, as of blessed 
ones chanting eternally : 

" Clouds we are!" they sing — "but clouds are 
footstools for The Infinite. Clouds we are ! but 
clouds of witnesses ! testifying forevermore in 
heaven, as we testified on earth, the hope, the 
promise, and the assurance, of Freedom to Hu- 
manity 1" 

Let us leave with Our Father in Heaven the 
records which Earth has lost. They rest in ce- 
lestial archives. Enough for us to cherish the 
examples that descend from our fathers, and to 
multiply them, by thoughts and deeds, that shall be 
memorials for our children hereafter. 



THE QUAKES SOLDIERS. 



105 



WOEDS SPOKEN AT THE BURIAL. 



BY KEV. 0. B. FBOTHINGHAM 



fllE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 107 

WOBDS SPOKEN AT THE BURIAL. 

BY liEV. 0. B. FKOTIIINGHAM. 

Fkiends: I liave come liere to-day as to a 
sacred place; as a pi,g„m eon.s to a'lhle I 
have come to viszt the home of the noble young 
man whose remams are coffined liere, to see thf 
^ot where he lived, the house where he was bc^^ 
tire mother who held him to her bosom, the neigh 
bors and faends he loved. I have come to re- 
ceive a lesson, not to give one; to be taught, not 
to teach ; to be comforted, not to comfort. B;tter 
than any speech of mine is the silent thought on 
hese rehcs and on all they have passed through, 
since the sta w«-t and beautiful fi-ame to whtcl 
they belonged left your peaceful hills for the camp 
and the battle-field. What a strange historv for 
such a man! Beaten up and down by alf the 
storms of war, borne hither and thither by the 
changeful movement of the army, blackened by 
the sun and bleached by the frost, exposed to all 
the mutations of the weather, pinched with hun- 
ger, .stiffened with cold, drenched with dew and 
rmn hardened by toil, wasted by fever, watching 
n the saddle, sleeping on the ground, begrimed 
by smoke and powder, a mark for sabre-cut and 
for rifle-baU, sick in hospital, captive in prison 



lOS 



THE QLTAivER SOLDIERS. 



dying among enemies, buried, Avitli no sLroud but 
Lis cloak, in hostile soil, lifted from tlic ground, 
coffined and brought liitlier at last, to rep ore in 
peace by tlie side of liis elder brother, and in sight 
of the doorway through which he had so often 
passed ; this body tells a touching and solemn 
story of toil, fatigue, suffering, peril, and death ; 
but also of patience, fortitude, bravery, cheerful- 
ness, the devotion of a generous, pure and earnest 
heart. 

I cannot utter words of common consolation 
here. There are all the usual consolations, and 
more. There is the thought of the Infinite God, 
just and loving — of the kind and tender Provi- 
dence, which allows nothing to be wasted, which 
picks up the fragments of our broken existence, 
ties together the loose threads of our activity, ar- 
ranges our life-plan, makes good the imperfection 
of our labor, and perfects itself in our w^eakness, 
suffering not even the little ones to perish, and 
permitting no good hope to fail ; there is the 
thought of a vast hereafter, where every life shall 
be made complete. These consolations are for 
all in ordinary times ; for those whose friends are 
cut off by untimely accident, if we may speak of 
untimeliness or accident in this world of God's ; 
for those whose dear ones die of their own igno- 
rance, error, foolishness, and vice. For these 
friends of ours we have more than this ; the sym- 
pathy of a great multitude, the fellowship of an 
immense company of noble mourners, the tender 



TilE QUAKER SOLDIERS. ' 109 

respect and love of strangers, tlie recognition of v. 
country^ the unspoken, perhaps unconscious, grat- 
itude of those ready to perish. The memory of 
such a career, of such a character, is alone conso- 
lation sufficient for more than ordinary grief. 
What greater comfort could there be for a mother 
than to have had even one such son ? To be rec- 
ognized and honored as the mother of such ? To 
live in their reflected light and glory ? When I 
think of mothers I know, who sit mourning for 
boys cut off in their prime by some fate which fin- 
ished their career before their career had well 
begun ; when I think of other mothers, who sit 
mourning for beautiful boys who have dug their 
own graves by dissipation ; and of other mothers 
yet, who are ready to pray kind death to take 
their boys away from temptation before they sink 
under it, body and soul ; this widowed mother, 
sitting by two such graves as these, with a heart 
full of such memories, seems to be blessed above 
the rest ; yes, above thousands whose sons are 
living at their side. 

A friend, last summer, read me a letter from a 
j^oung man iii the army of the Potomac, written 
to his mother after the battle of Chancellorville. 
It was the elder brother of him whose remains lie 
here. Early in the war the hearts of both burned 
to take part in the conflict for what they believed 
to be the cause of liberty, truth, and justice among 
men. The elder went ; the younger stayed, to 
support and comfort his mother. Presently came 



110 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 

brave letters from the camp, telling of tlie life 
there, presenting the most encouraging aspects of 
it, for the sake of the dear ones at home, making 
light of the privations, hardships and perils, and 
showing how the pure purpose of the heart was 
deepening, how the manlj character was ripening, 
under circumstances that are usually considered 
to be fatal to all sweetness and tenderness of 
nature. The soul of the younger brother was 
stirred by these words from the camp and the field. 
He felt that he must go. His mother pleads, his 
brother remonstrates, saying what such a man 
would say about duty at home, the mother's lone- 
hness, the chances of battle, and the fearful thing 
it would be were both to die — but saying too, in 
an undertone which was felt, not seen in the writ- 
ing — " Well, it is a great cause, and good men are 
needed in it, and it is no wonder that every high- 
minded man is eager to do his part." And John 
followed Edward ; left the hills, the homestead, 
the farm, the sorrowing mother, the delights of 
his quiet, tranquil life. 

Letters came now from both boys ; letters that 
suggested — though their writers knew nothing of 
it and did not suspect it — the good they must be 
doing in the camp by their courage, their obedi- 
ence, their high tone of loyalty, not less by the 
purity and temperance and manly simplicity of 
their example. Brave we knew they were ; ready, 
faithful, unflinching, unmurmuring. At Gettys- 
burg the elder brother falls. The younger searches 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. Ill 

tlie bloody miles of battle-ground for the body, 
finds it after many hours among the slain, bears 
it in his arms a mile to a quiet resting-place, 
whence it is removed to be borne northward by 
tender hands, and laid, in the gorgeous mid-sum- 
mer, beneath the trees he loved so well. 

Letters now from one brother again, telling the 
bereaved mother that he was unhurt and well ; 
that he should come back to her soon ; that Ed- 
ward's spirit w^as about him and would ward oflE 
the balls ; and in the future would be about them 
both, and help them along the rest of their way. 

But exposure, work, sorrow, brought sickness ; 
weeks of miserable sickness in the hospital, a sigh 
for the invigorating breath of these hills, and for 
a cheering sight of his old friends. But the buglo 
w^as ringing outside ; his brave fellow^s were 
making ready for the charge ; he leaves the hos- 
pital, full of courage as ever, but too feeble in body 
to take the field ; for a fortnight, daily, he is out, 
wrapped in smoke and dust ; narrowly escaping 
from death, as he rallies his men, he is taken pris- 
oner. Still, from the horrible Eichmond prison, 
come the letters, brave and uncomplaining ; he is 
unwounded, he is safe now from danger in battle ; 
he has strength to bear him through ; he needs 
but a few comforts, blankets, clothing ; he is not 
treated harshly. Poor fellow ! he is dying from 
exhaustion. He goes to the hospital for a few 
days ; he goes in the afternoon ; the next morn- 
ing he is dead in his bed. 



il2 THE QUAKER SOLDIEES. 

It was long before this brother found his way 
homeward ; the mother's heart was getting tired 
with waiting ; but he is here at last ; and we are 
here, to be honored by the presence of his remains. 

For what w^as this young life given aw^ay ? For 
what were this sweet home, this pleasant existence, 
these tranquil pursuits, this dear mother resigned ? 
For what were all these cares and toils and sor- 
row's borne ? Not for himself ; not that he might 
be richer, greater, more famous ; not in pride or 
vindictiveness. or yoimg love of adventure ; but 
that the poor blacks of the South, whom he knew^ 
not, and wdio knew not him — the poor blacks, to 
whom the very name of man had been denied — the 
beaten, treated as the offscouring of the earth, 
might have their human rights ; for these, whom 
he never saw, he died, with a faith as simple and 
a devotion as pure as ever man had, counting 
what he did as little, remembering only wdiat he 
ought to do. Unpretendmg, unambitious, with the 
he.art of a little child and the conscience of a 
Christian man, he lived and died for a principle. 

It is a strange sight, the coffin of a soldier, 
wrapped in a battle-flag, lying in a Friends' meet- 
ing-house. He was educated a Friend, and was 
in spirit, to the end, one of that peaceful brother- 
hood, who abhor violence, and blood-shedding, 
and war. Comfort yourselves, oh. Friends ! with 
the thought that he preserved that pious abhor- 
rence as sacredly as you do. He was a lover of 
peace ; he went out in the holy cause of peace, as 



THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 113 

a, peacemaker. Not to make war or to contiime 
war, but to put an end to war ; to die himself, if 
need were, by the hand of war, that w^ar might 
cease. To make war in his country forever im- 
possible, by eradicating human slavery, its perma- 
nent cause, he took up arms. There seemed no 
other way of doing it. He would thankfully have 
used other means, had other means been permit- 
ted. Accepting these, he prayed ahvays for the 
quiet rest he hoped these would bring. You need 
not be afi'aid of shockmg your principles by re- 
ceivmg him here from battle. His spirit would 
do no violence to the saintliest communion. Do 
we hate war less in these days than formerly ? 
Nay, friends, we hate it, if possible, a thousand 
times more, and we hate slavery ten thousand 
times more, when we see them, father and son, 
doing such deeds as this. 

O, my fiiends, the time is coming, the time is 
surely coming, when all they who went dow^n into 
this great struggle will be held in honor by all 
lovers of order and peace ; when they who have 
lost arm or leg in it will be looked at with pro- 
found respect; wdien they who have come out 
of it riven or scarred will be counted among the 
beautiful ; when they who, like this young man, 
have died in it, with a noble sense of its sig- 
nificance, win be reckoned among the martyrs of 
God's truth. The time will come, when they who 
have sent husband, son, brother, lover, into this 
struggle, will be cherished in grateful remem- 



114 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



brance. Yes, when tliey who have suffered in it, 
in any wise, even with no high sentiment of its 
gi'andeur, and no high purpose in their death, will 
yet be wrapped about with its sanctifying glory. 
Then we, who have done nothing, who have but 
given a few of our superfluous dollars, who have 
but preached what others ought to do, will apolo- 
gize for our well-preserved health and beauty, and 
will be glad to hide our shame behind the form of 
some hero of our blood. 

It is sad to see so much young manhood laid 
low in its bloom, and laid low by that barbarian. 
War, pushed on by his more loathsome brother — 
Slavery. But we must not be narrow in judging 
the issues of a human life. Who can tell how ex- 
istence may be most profitably spent ? Who can 
decide what is the most effectual doing ? Provi- 
dence decides all that for us, and makes every 
earnest man do his work, wherever he is, and 
whether ho live longer or shorter. Had our 
young friend lived, he would have been known and 
beloved among these hills, and, doubtless, would 
have made the force of his character felt by his 
neighbors. A good son, a faithful friend, a useful 
townsman, a sincere, honest, humane man, he 
would have lived and died here, in the quiet, and 
the little stream of his existence would have fed 
the moral life of his generation, only as one of 
your mountain rivulets feeds the Atlantic Ocean. 
The heroic quality in him would have slumbered ; 
his power of sacrifice would have been uncalled 



titE QUAKER SOLDIERS. ll5 



for, his example of pure patriotism -vs^ould have 
been lost. Now he is known by many, to whom 
personally he was a stranger. He is respected 
and loved by some who never would have heard of 
him. He has exhibited manly qualities of the 
highest order, where men could see them. He has 
shed a virtue abroad in the camp. He has read 
lessons of duty to some whom he would hardly 
have thought of instructing. For my own j)art, 
though I never saw him, I gratefully confess my 
debt to him for a fresh behef in the nobleness 
of nature, for a more living faith in man, for a 
fresh conviction of the worth of a simple fidelity 
to principle, for a new sense of the sublimity of 
sacrifice. For me he has done much by his living, 
and by his dying. Yes, O my brother ! they tell 
me that words of mine helped to show you the 
significance of this struggle, and did something to 
deepen in your heart the purpose that has brought 
you thus early to the gi'ave. You have richly 
X'epaid the debt. You have shown me the signi- 
ficance of a good man's deed, and, I hope, have 
deepened in my heart a purpose that will help mo 
to nobler life. 

But we have said too much, we have broken too 
long and too impertinently the sacred silence. 
We should have allowed him to sj^eak more. Had 
he been able to speak, he would have rebuked us 
for praising what he did in the sincerity of his 
heart, because he could not help it, and under pain 
of self-condemnation had he left it undone. Let 



Il6 THE QUAKER SOLDIERS. 



US lay what is left of his poor body in the ground* 
and think of him as living and working on ; for in 
the future time, when sweet peace shall come 
back to us, he will Hve and work in the pure sen- 
timents he has aided in strengthening, and in the 
noble institutions he has died to estabhsh. 



fHE END. 



